The day that Julie got cat-called

Three times, in fact. By the same person. I was almost to the train station when I heard the first croaky whistle, obviously he hadn't been warming up earlier. I didn't look though. Then I heard it again. Louder this time. And then (if you can believe it) AGAIN. The third and last time was the loudest and most cat-calliest of them all. But I never looked. First of all, I hate to assume that it's me that the whistles are directed at. What if I look over and they're like, 'um, why the heck would you think we're doing that for you?' Well, that's my low self-esteem for ya. (Kinda like when you hear a car honk or someone say 'hi' and you want to look to see if you're the object of their interest, but you don't want to be wrong about that. Total embarrassment if you are; looking like a snob if you aren't. *sigh*) Second of all, I'm a chicken. When I got to the protective cover of the train station, I kind of wished I had looked, or could now see who it was. Double sigh. Whatever.