Three Times.

The First Time:

The first time it happened, I was probably thirteen.  Kelsey and I had just rode our bikes to the ice cream shoppe on the last corner of Ripon's quaint but struggling downtown.  I had just bent over to lock our bikes together, when it happened.  I turned around, and there was an old, crispy gentleman wearing overalls and a red cap, smiling widely.  He then trotted down the street as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

"What just happened?" I said.
"I thought that was your grandpa."
"Grandpas don't do that."

The Second Time:

The second time was back in the summer of 2010; the summer I visited the most clubs; the summer I enjoyed my singlehood; the summer I wasn't looking for anything but a good time.  I was walking along the streets of downtown Minneapolis with my friend Camille, who, carrying heels in hand, was a little disgruntled that we were lost, but still managed to carry herself with a certain sex appeal that showed onlookers that she was in control of her destiny.  We walked past the metro stop where an African man pounded on a tribal drum for tips and pity.  A crowd gathered outside an upscale establishment; a few dozen souls waiting out on the street to get the nod from the bouncer.  It was this crowd that stood between us and our destination.  I stopped.

"Assert yourself, girl; get through there!"  Camille gave me a small push.

The Third Time:

The third time was yesterday in the library, which may come as a shock to those who haven't frequented one in a while, but I've worked in and been in enough libraries to not be completely surprised.  During my internship at Hennepin Central a couple years back, I had been asked repeatedly by patrons if I had a boyfriend; if I spoke Spanish, and, damn, wasn't I the sexiest librarian they had ever seen.
The hallway was wide, so it wasn't just a misinterpreted nudge.  Especially since he sleazily looked back over his shoulder, walking slowly, looking for a reaction.  His greasy hollow eyes looked for something from me; a smile, a glare; an invitation.  I'm never quick-witted enough to say something loud and empowered or to give the culprit a swift kick.  Instead it's always a blank stare; not upset, confused; and it's the confusion that let's them get away with it so easily.