My friend Chantee instant messaged me Wednesday morning about a fondling she received at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn subway station that night on her way home. We had been bowling with friends at Port Authority until well into the night, and Chantee is a classy lady, so she had worn a white button-down shirt with a grey patterned tie and was lookin’ good.
She took the A train to Hoyt-Schermerhorn after we finished our last incredibly low-scoring game, and as she was waiting for the G, an MTA night worker strolled by her on the platform and said, “Hey, beautiful.” Now, Chantee is a lovely lady with assets that are taken note of on an hourly–no, secondly–basis, so this sort of thing is old hat for her. She smiled politely and kept watching for the train, thinking that she hadn’t inadvertently issued any invitations for rape. She was wrong.