Women at Tulane should be more vigilant walking home alone

It’s 8 AM on a Saturday morning and I’m walking home, heels in hand, hair in knotted curls, mindlessly checking Snapchats from the night before. I’m about four blocks from my house off-campus when a black SUV pulls up and idles next to me.

I hear the window roll down and while I’m not a paranoid person, and it’s not the first time I’ve been approached by a strange man, there’s something eery that there are birds chirping, and sprinklers drenching the sidewalk in front of me. I’m also passing by the local elementary school, which makes this feel even more wrong than usual.

It’s 8 AM on a Saturday morning. I should still be asleep, but instead I’m greeted by a stranger in a car who thinks it is the appropriate time to ask me if I need a ride—and the appropriate time to comment on my appearance, my body, and my lack of interaction when I decide to ignore him and quicken my pace.

It might’ve been early, but that experience isn’t necessarily unique to me or any of my female friends.

We’ve heard it time and time again: don’t walk anywhere alone, be aware of your surroundings, make sure someone always knows where you’re going, blah, blah, blah. It’s important advice. It’s crucial advice, and yet I walk home alone most nights without a second thought and I’m not the minority. Yes, even after something as ridiculous as being cat-called at 8 AM, I still opt to dip out of the bar unnoticed and walk myself home.

Maybe it’s part of being 21 and feeling invincible, maybe it’s falling into a false sense of security, maybe it’s to prove that I am independent enough to take care of myself. The bottom line? Walking home alone at night in New Orleans, or anywhere for that matter, is like playing a dangerous game of roulette, and it’s not the kind you can or want to play downtown at Harrah’s.

The scary truth is that my heart rate quickens every time I walk alone and have to pass by a stranger on the sidewalk. It’s second nature. I’ve heard the stories. My parents have lectured me time and time again. Sometimes I cross the sidewalk to avoid an uncomfortable situation. When I walk home I’m thinking of ways to shrink myself and become invisible, not what kind of pizza I’ll order as a late night snack—that’s just the reality young women live in today.

Still, I walk home alone.

It wasn’t until that black car idled next to me on that Saturday morning that I really started to think about how dangerous my choices were and the most unnerving part about the whole experience was that, while all this was happening, I could hear children playing in their backyard just a few houses down.

It’s easy to feel safe until you aren’t, and when you aren’t there is only one thought that goes through your mind: get out of the current situation as soon as possible.

But what happens when you can’t? It only takes one walk home alone. Even in broad daylight. Even with birds chirping and mailmen making their morning rounds.

From one stubbornly independent twenty-something woman to another, it’s time we start walking each other home.