Life in the Zone

Over the course of the 4 years that I lived in LA, I’d literally forgotten what it is like to be cat-called.

I have:

1) Real boobs.
B) Real hair (brown).
C) Real wrinkles.
4) Real vocabulary (with an over-abundance of the word “Dude”)

Therefore, I was invisible in LA – something that I grew to love about myself there.

Even so, even if I had the boobs, the hair, the Botox – I still probably wouldn’t have ever been cat-called.

WAIT. Correction. I wouldn’t have been cat-called by the general population (excluding one particular culture, where I began to think that it must be considered rude if a man doesn’t stare, wink and hump the air every time a girl – not necessarily a pretty one – walked by)

Excluding them, its just not done. Surprising in a land of nothing but beautiful people, sure. I would theorize that people are too busy admiring themselves to notice others, but that would be a generalization that in the end, I can’t get on board with. I knew too many people who didn’t care for that to be true.

So, given the fact that cat-calling is not a pro sport in LA, I’d managed to extinguish it from my life all together, and I kinda forgot it existed.

And then…I moved here.

Picture this: Chris and I live at the very beating heart of the world’s biggest and most famous construction site: Ground Zero. Not only that, BUT – they are re-constructing the road in front of our building, constructing the residences next to us, the hotel kiddy corner from us, and actually de-constructing the building directly East of us.

I think its safe to say that we’re in the thick of it.

Now, given what I just explained – can you even imagine the amount of construction workers I walk by on a daily basis? Its in the hundreds. I walk by – sometimes through – hundreds of construction workers every day.

When we moved here, I stepped out of that U-Haul and into the dreams of about 50 men who work around my building. How do I know this? – that’s what about 50 of them said to me ON DAY ONE.

I have been cat-called in front of my husband (yes), friends (2 are better than 1), dog (from a distance)…I have been cat-called in front of my DAD, for the love of God (that was awkward).

Needless to say, I didn’t dip a toe back into it, I did a cannon ball into the very core of the cat-calling culture.

And the thing that is so alarming about it is that it can happen when I’m all sexy’ed up for a night out (appreciated), or it can be the morning after, when I’m wearing sweats, glasses, dirty hair and morning breath (not appreciated).

For those of you who are lucky enough to have seen me in the AM, its not a whistling, “Hey, Baby” type situation.

You’ve got to give them credit, however – they are totally unbiased, color-blind, open-minded and honestly don’t care if you’re a troll that lives under a bridge – as long as you’ve got any semblance of a rack, you’re gettin’ some love.

This is why that despite my seemingly negative views of this practice, I can appreciate a good gawk every now and then. Every girl knows that turning a head (no matter whose it is) makes her day. Even if heads also turn for the Troll walking behind her.

So, on day one, I knew that beating them was not an option. Joining them was unrealistic, as I’m afraid of heights and look horrid in a hardhat. The only other option was to live with them – which I do. Every morning, I shoot them a smile. Every afternoon, I give them an “Afternoon, Boys”. And every night on my way home from work, I tell them I’ll see ‘em in the morning.

They still give me “rounds of applause” – but at this point, I kinda like it.

The fact is, these guys have Mothers. They have girlfriends and wives…some have kids. They have bills to pay, beers to drink and maybe a few of them are saving up for an engagement ring. Granted, this doesn’t stop them from harassing women, but it stops me from being bitter. Most of these boys are harmless sweethearts who spend 14 hours a day immersed in testosterone. My eyes would bug out at the sight of a skirt, too, if that were my fate. So I smile, and take the compliment – because really (even in front of my Dad) that’s what it is.

OK, I had a point……OH. Jay. Jay holds the stop sign at the crosswalk of the West Side Highway. I walk over the highway with Gertie several times a day, so Jay knows me, he knows Gertie, he knows Chris…I know he went to a birthday party last weekend – we’re pals.

The other guys, I don’t know by name, but by face, and they know how I look walking away – so – we’re pals, too.

Today, Gertie decided to drop trou in the middle of the crosswalk. I kid you not when I say that one has approximately 45 seconds to get across the street before every cabbie in New York is skidding tires on that green light. And there’s G – hunched over, looking guilty, dropping bombs, as I try to drag her to a safe zone.

In doing so, I ensured that she had scattered her offerings all over the highway. Meanwhile, the walk signal hand was blinking, I was struggling with the poo bags, Gertie was making a break for it, and the cars were revving their engines at the start. Panic!

Out of nowhere, Jay was next to me, offering to take Gertie while I clean up. As if from the woodwork, workers from all over the site gathered to hold traffic while I frantically ran around playing pick up sticks. The lights turned green, and cars did not move. My boys were there for me – silently. No whistles (though, I’m pretty sure my skirt blew up), no rounds of applause (though it was quite a show). Just some good old fashioned lookin’ out. Gertie and I were safe, sound (well, she was) – and encased – by construction workers.

When the last poo had been picked up off the street, they dispersed and traffic proceeded as usual. I spent the rest of my day thinking about how awesome that was – and then it dawned on me. My experience on the highway today was a tiny example of my life everyday. This city may be crazy and hectic and dangerous, but here we are - safe, sound – and encased – by construction workers. And there’s no place I’d rather be.

On my way back tonight, I walked through them as I always do, got a whistle and a call as usual – but this time, I reveled in it – because this is home.