Once upon a time, on the Tube in London, a little old lady called out a slut-shaming wanker for being, well, a wanker. We were lucky enough that Scott Sparrow posted this story on his Facebook. Read on:

"I am having such a wonderful day on the tubes I can't not share this story. Let me build the scene:
Central Line between Oxford Circus and Chancery Lane, possibly St Pauls.
To my right is sat a lady, 25-30, wearing a revealing dress. 
To my left is an old lady, almost dead is how old she is. 
Standing in front of us is a man, 50's, suit and tie, eyeing revealing dress. 
Suit leans over to the revealing dress lady and says "Have some self respect when you dress yourself"
Revealing dress lady blushes to the colour of her almost not there dress.
Old soon to be dead lady is having none of this and in a south london accent shouts out "She can wear or not wear whatever the fuck she likes, even if she was naked with a sign pointing to her fanny (she said fanny on the central line by St Pauls) and the sign pointed to her fanny which said ...PARTY CITY ALL INVITED...then that would still be none of your bloody business now fuck off back to your bored wife!"
Red dress then hugs the walking dead and old suit walks off.

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That old lady will be my hero for the rest of her life, even if the rest of her life is like only another week. She was so old."

She had some serious sass, and rightfully so! From personal experience, I understand the shame, embarrassment, and fear that comes along with calling out your harasser. You shouldn’t feel this way! You are not the one in the wrong.

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Sometimes, though, it’s easier to call someone out when they’re harassing someone else, instead of you. I wholeheartedly encourage this. Not only will the harasser back off - how embarrassing, getting called out for their barbaric behavior - but the victim will feel supported and safe.

Unfortunately, it’s common for others to watch on. This was the case for me: I was on a French metro late at night and a drunk man was standing next to me. I politely avoided eye contact and kept to my personal bubble, which he quickly popped when he leaned in to touch my arm. I walked to the opposite side of the car, hoping my body language would clearly state my disinterest. I was truly embarrassed, and I didn’t know how to call out this French man for drunkenly touching me. He followed, stood in front of me, and tried to put his hand over my crotch, asking me in French if I liked it.

Surprisingly, I didn’t! I wasn’t alone on this train, though. Girls my age looked on with pity, and absolute relief not to be the chosen victim of the night. My stop was next and I fled from the drunkard before he tried to grope me some more. Say something! Do something! Tell all icky harassers to “fuck off back to their bored wives.”

Image via HerCampus

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