Rebecca Davidson: Are you lookin' at me?

I had the extreme pleasure of passing last summer right here in the City of Brotherly Love. The days were hot, and I dressed accordingly. On some of the hotter days, I wore especially short shorts.

When men took it upon themselves to catcall and make inappropriate comments, I gathered that they were reacting to my clothes. Except that it happened even when I dressed modestly.

Mostly, the rude remarks came from the mouths of construction workers. While not the sole sexual harrassers in the city, they were certainly the most frequent, if not the most vile offenders.

And this summer, West Philly was all but crawling with 'em. Whether it was at on-campus construction sites located on 40th Street and on 38th Street, or downtown sites at 22nd and Market and 23rd and Walnut, I never had far to walk before one of these hard-hatted men singled me out with suggestive comments or whistles.

Initially, I was bothered by the unwanted attention. Suffice it to say that there is a difference between telling a woman her eyes are pretty and ogling a stranger on the street while commenting on her legs.

Naturally, remarks of the latter variety were more offensive. They were also more common.

It got to the point where, as I walked past a construction crew that was invariably taking a lunch, coffee or miscellaneous break, I would cringe, hold my breath and try to become invisible as I made my way down the street.

Gradually, however, I came to accept that the indignities I withstood at and near construction sites were just another facet of city life, comparable to grit, SEPTA's tendency to run late and stolen bicycle seats.

Then something changed.

One morning on my way to work -- a two-block commute -- a man fell in step behind me.

"Your ass looks nice in that skirt."

It was the proverbial last straw. While not so eloquent or clever, my retort was, I felt, direct and to the point.

"I didn't ask you."

"What?" he asked. "What'd you say? Excuse me? I didn't hear you." And so on, for a whole block.

I reached the driveway of my office and turned.

"Fat-ass white bitch!" he called after me.

I'd thought that by responding to this type of thing, I would somehow feel vindicated and strong. Instead, I felt far worse than I had all those times when I had reacted to similar remarks by pretending to ignore them. By responding to him, I had let him get to me even more.

And I could see no other way to deal with it. I could choose to speak out or not, but I had no formal way to complain. I certainly hadn't been physically assaulted. The man hadn't come out and threatened me. So far as I could tell, no crime had been committed.

The individual who brightened my day by calling me a bitch was not a construction worker. But my reaction to his unwarranted comments was a product of all the times I had wanted to say something to Philadelphia's ruder class of construction workers.

Virtually ever company in America with a fleet of trucks pastes or paints "How's My Driving? Call 1-800-MY BOSS" on their vehicles. And hotlines to turn in rip-off taxi drivers are widely available. Watchdog agencies exist in abundance in all kinds of industries. Why then, aren't construction workers, particularly those hired by powerful entities like the University or the City of Philadelphia, held accountable for their actions?

Perhaps signs ought to be posted at city and even University construction sites, naming the contractor, and including a phone number to call and register complaints against sexually harassing construction workers. After a certain number of complaints have been filed against a crew, its foreman and workers should face sanctions. Contracted employees of the University, the city and any other respectable institution ought to be held responsible for their actions.

Construction workers are certainly not the only ones out there every day making women feel uncomfortable, and even vulnerable, but because they are technically at work when make these remarks, there is something that can be done about them.

Call me crazy, but I think we're all entitled -- men and women -- to walk down the street without being verbally assaulted.

Rebecca Davidson is a senior English major from Glen Rock, NJ.

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