Friday night, coming back from Team America, Sharkboy and I witnessed a white woman being attacked by 6 black guys in a doorway on a fairly busy street. She was obviously on her way to a costume party when these guys must have cornered her into the doorway. She shouted a bit as the guys were clawing at her costume, pulling down the neckline past her breasts. This was taking place across the street from us and the guys stopped and let her go when we got directly across from them. She quickly hustled herself back into her dress and made off down the street as the black guys hooted and laughed.
“Should we do something?” Sharkboy asks, looking both ways down the street, as if he was ready to go over there to do something.
“No,” I say. “Suicide.”
I am unsure if I am a coward and this certainly made me feel I was. I have never been tested in situations like this, but I like to think I have enough common sense to not confront 6 guys on a street at night.
We walked on.
I get madder and sicker by the step. We look around for cops but of course there are none at Parliament and Gerrard at 10pm on a Friday night. I toy with the idea of hailing a cab and getting him to call some cops but in turning to look for a taxi, we notice the guys are half a block behind us slowly walking our way. The woman is nowhere to be found.
“I wish I was bullet-proof,” I offer. We walk the rest of the way in guilty silence.
Saturday night, in the Halloween festivities on Church Street, hoards of straight people clog the Village to get a glimpse of queer freaks in dresses and jocks. Sharkboy and I are finishing up our Gay Pizzas outside on the old Flatiron’s steps. Suddenly there’s a woman in my face, drunk, open liquor in hand, slurring: “Guy! Godda Single?!”
“Single?” and I am about to introduce Sharkboy…
“Ya! Siggaret? Single Siggaret?”
Oh she wants a cigarette, the poor dear. She’s not going away. She makes a slurred nasty comment on my half-assed costume. She looks like she’s going to punch me. To get her out of my personal space, I tell her that they sell singles inside the Pizza shop. Down the short steps and into the shop she and her friend stumble. The door is open and I can hear her shouting at the poor soft spoken Asian pizza maker.
She comes back out and yells “FAG!” back at the Pizza guy or at me, not sure. As she drags her friend by us, Sharkboy offers: “You shouldn’t be yelling that in this neighbourhood.”
“Glrusaekjrfucker!” She shoots back, her beer spilling.
“Cunt,” I reply, loud enough for her to hear. She dissapears into the crowd.
I wish I could pluck people out of situations and replace them with people who truly deserve to be in such situations.
Dont get me wrong, I dont wish sexual assault on anyone. But in light of that woman’s horrid experience on Friday night, compared to Saturday’s display of pure trash behaviour, I would swap those two women out in a second.
Downtown Toronto is becoming a shit hole, people.