Last week our pal Brittney wrote about being phonejacked on the bus. This week, as if Brittney were a Lars von Trier heroine, shit got way worse:
I pulled the cord to signal that I wanted off when the bus was due to stop again at 5th and Market.
I stood a few seconds before the bus came to a halt, a clear indiction that I was getting out and off the bus. When the bus stopped the man to my right swiveled his legs around rather than stand, so I took a wide step to get around him and as I did he grabbed me between my legs.
Without thinking I turned and swung my heavy purse containing a server’s book, a hardback journal and loose, sharp pens at his head, but barely connected. I think the purse grazed his face. I screamed FUCK YOU, also without thinking, and fled off the bus.