Misogyny in the French Discotheque

From the basement of a dimly-lit bar streams the sound of overly-based, early 2000s American pop hits. We make our way toward this source of this painful music. After a few moments of moving my shoulders as if I knew what I was doing there, desperate men attempt to penetrate my spatial boundaries. Over blaring music, one begins to talk at me while continuing to move his body toward mine. No", "Arrête", "No, merci". He continues to aggressively follow me, as if the word "no" doesn't translate. I physically turn myself around, yet I still sense him behind my shoulder. I'd never seen men so adamantly chase a woman who clearly expresses no interest. I wonder if this is a cultural thing, or if this is just the nature of the club scene here.

I walk outside for a moment. I ask someone to see their lighter, which sparks a shallow conversation in broken French. A few others walk out after us. One of then begins to talk to the boy I'm standing with. They start overtly looking and talking about me in rapid and indecipherable French. At this point, I can hardly understand a word. I ask them what they're saying about me, but neither respond. One starts to yank me back inside. I feel as if I've just been auctioned off to a well-dressed European man. I push hum off of me and head out to find my friends. If i've learned anything from clubbing in France, it's that adamant European men love American girls who don't have the vocabulary to reject them.