8:08pm: I get off the train and start walking home when I pass by the same barbershop where I normally hear comments and brace myself. I just got my lip and arms waxed after work and have my headphones on, so I am hoping the bright red mustache I have will deter catcalls. No such luck. I pass a group of men and hear one of them say something to me. I stop and stare at him, glaring silently for 30 seconds: clearly making him uneasy. He begins to say something, so I take off my headphones. I explain that it isn't a compliment.
"Has this ever worked for you?" I ask.
"Sometimes. Some women flip you off. Some don't."
One man aggressively retorts, "I got a woman!" implying that he does not need my approval.
"Mazel tov, motherfucker," I say, "Doesn't mean I want your friend staring at me."
"You want me to get my wife right now? She'll kick your ass."
"For what exactly?"
A different member of the group, wearing a red shirt and a baseball hat, seems as if he wants to put me at ease. He says, "You're beautiful. It's a compliment."
"It's not a compliment," I respond, "It's degrading. I hear comments all the time. I didn't ask. I'm not here for you to look at."
"Then cover yourself. Wear a big garbage bag," the pugnacious one responds.
"And get called a terrorist? Because modesty works so well for women?"
"Chill," the calmer man says, "You hear comments because you're beautiful."
"No," I answer, "it's because I have tits."
They laugh because I said the word "tits."
"I'm not looking at your body; I'm looking at your face."
I try once more to point out that women do not like to hear these comments. One guy seems to think he is trying to be a nice guy. "Have a good night, beautiful," he says at the end of our interaction.
"Really?" I say, "After what I just said?" He smiles at me, and then at his friends, feeling powerful that he got the last jab.
I snap a picture of them and they look as if they feel threatened. Now I have the upper hand.