[Note
from Dave: This is going to be a strange update, since this isn't
something I've written nor is it a personal take on it, but a close
personal friend of mine asked if I would put it on my blog, so that
the message of the piece is out there, and since it pretty succinctly
demonstrates why I react as I do to certain implications, expressions
and marginalisations in the media, I decided to put it up. Heather,
the floor is yours]
I’m
Heather. I’m 20, a university student and I regularly work in a
small Sports & Social Club (well, I’m currently running the
place until they find someone else). I enjoy this job because it
enables me to talk to people and be friendly to them. I may receive
the occasional comment about my female parts, and may be asked if I
like/am good at ‘giving head,’ but I feel safe, so it doesn’t
bother me.
If I get strangers shouting across the street about my body parts, chances are I won’t hear them because my MP3 will be blaring music through my headphones. So I’m not going to lie – I’d never really understood just how bad sexual harassment could be… until I received it myself.
I’d closed the bar at work and two lads around my age were still around. They asked for another drink after I’d given countless ‘last orders’ warnings, closed and counted up the till, took it downstairs and switched off the gas… So no chance. I absolutely hate it when customers ask for lock-ins because actually, I’m tired. And by expecting me to serve them drinks after I’ve closed the bar and am ready to go, it’s fucking inconsiderate of them.
I said no. I wasn’t going to change my mind.
I was stubborn. They were stubborn.
I said no several times. They asked several times.
But I wasn’t going to be the doormat that I sometimes am, not that night, and so I stuck to my original answer.
45 minutes later, they gave up and went away.
I returned home, upset and tired by what had happened, because 1) I hate it when customers expect lock-ins and 2)… well, one customer had seriously crossed the line.
He said that if I served him a drink, I could lift up my skirt, take off my tights and he’d ‘lick the alphabet’ on my ‘fanny,’ but only if my pubic hair wasn’t too long and had I had a wash today?
He actually said that.
He also repeatedly asked if I had a ‘sensitive clitoris.’
He actually said that too.
I was horrified.
Now, I may hear the occasional comment made by a customer that I disagree with, i.e. that ‘pakis are taking over the world,’ and I may or may not speak up about it. But this was different. This was an attack towards me.
Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before, but there he was, standing at the bar, saying those things to me, a FEMALE member of staff, working late at NIGHT on her OWN.
It wasn’t said in a jokey manner. He and his mate had jokingly been saying previously that we should have a threesome but I just said ‘Nah, I like my men with longer hair’ (his mate had short hair, and if I had a ‘type’ of guy I fell for, he wouldn’t be it), and then quickly said ‘But not you, Oli.’ Saying that now, I guess I should have seen worse to come.
Oli wasn’t even drunk. I’m not saying it would be OK for him to say it if he WAS drunk, but you know what I mean.
I was scared. I was made to feel uncomfortable to be in their company, to be at my own workplace, and I didn’t know how to react.
I regret to say that I laughed it off. I know it was the wrong reaction and that what he’d said was bang out of order, but like I just said, I didn’t know how else to respond.
After returning home that night, all I said to my dad (who is on the club committee at the club) was that two lads had wanted drinks after closing the bar, and that I’d stuck to my ‘no’ answer. Dad congratulated me for sticking to what I’d said and not being a doormat.
I went to bed and didn’t think about it until the next day.
I told a friend about what had happened. She offered to buy me some water from a nearby Greggs, with it being stuffy warm and not being able to leave my summer job stall. When she returned, I said ‘Oh my god, can I rant about last night at work please?’
She said yes, so I did.
As I told it, I realised just how wrong it all was. Saying the words felt disgusting, and I felt compelled to warn her several times before actually telling her what had been said. I didn’t want to shock her.
She affirmed my thoughts that what had happened was unacceptable. He had crossed the line and I couldn’t stand by and let it go unnoticed. She recommended I tell my dad.
For a few seconds, as she was telling me this, I considered if it was my fault at all. That night at work, I’d been wearing clothes that complimented my figure (complimented, that’s all – don’t go calling me a slut), so maybe I’d been ‘asking for it?’ The fact that I’d worn the same things without any trouble previously was not of importance right then.
But hell, I realised soon enough that actually, this way of thinking was fucking dangerous and shouldn’t actually apply to justice (although unfortunately, the law has used this argument in harassment and rape cases before) - even if someone is dressed as a ‘slut,’ blaming the victim is never going to help. And, quite simply, to suggest that a girl wearing nice clothes will suddenly transform a man into a misogynistic and intimidating arsehole who can’t control their mouth and/or actions is demeaning to men, and I’m not convinced.
I told dad about it when he was in the garden, back from a bike ride. I had to be off to work again quite soon, so I had to tell him then.
Between telling my friend about the incident and telling dad, doubts had started nagging at me again – maybe he’d think I’d been asking for it? Maybe he’d just shrug and say ‘It was just a joke. Get over it.”
But no. It turns out that actually, dads don’t tend to like it when a customer talks to their 20 year old daughter like that. He was furious with Oli. He told me that somebody had to confront Oli about the incident, demanding he apologise to me, saying how inappropriate it was and that if it happened again, it would be reported to the committee, and would I want to tell Oli this, or would I want someone else to do it?
I said that I could tell him myself, and he assured me that I wouldn’t be digging up old history by bringing it up, even if the next time Oli came in was weeks after, and that I couldn’t just go “Oh, it’s fine!” in my usual forgiving and pushover manner, whenever the confrontation would occur. Because it wasn’t fine, and both dad and I knew this.
I was upstairs working a function that night, and dad came up the stairs later on and asked could he have a word?
He told me that Oli had arrived downstairs and that he didn’t want me to come away from the party, and that he’d had a word with Oli instead.
Oli had come in with his girlfriend, and my dad, being the good guy that he is, called Oli away from her and asked to have a word. Judging by Oli’s attempt to intimidate my dad by moving close and looking down at him, he knew what it was about. It didn’t work though, because dad stuck his ground and told him that he knew what had happened. Oli apologised and admitted that it had been out of order.
Apparently, dad had wanted to have more than just ‘a word’ with him and wanted to ‘kick his bloody face in.’ But he didn’t.
So next time Oli sees me, he owes me an apology. And he knows history can’t repeat itself, because if he does, he’s out of the club. And there’s no chance that he can every speak to me or anyone else in that way again.
I thanked dad for what he’d done – for listening to me, for talking to Oli – but he said he’d not done anything.
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I haven’t. Have I got blood on my shoe? No, I have not got blood on my shoe.”
Like I said at the beginning of this blog, I’d never really quite understood how intimidating and damaging sexual harassment was, until I’d received it myself. It’s not nice. Having things of a sexual nature shouted at you across the street can make a person feel uncomfortable. It’s not a compliment if the speaker expects or wishes for something from the receiver (…sex). There’s a great difference between ‘I love your hat’ and ‘Y’alright love? Nice tits!’ LEARN IT.
But all in all, my experience of sexual harassment ended OK: people understood just how wrong the whole thing was and I wasn’t made to feel like I was to blame… I was lucky. But not everyone is. If you witness or receive sexual harassment and someone or you are made to feel scared and vulnerable, then please… just stand against it.
If I get strangers shouting across the street about my body parts, chances are I won’t hear them because my MP3 will be blaring music through my headphones. So I’m not going to lie – I’d never really understood just how bad sexual harassment could be… until I received it myself.
I’d closed the bar at work and two lads around my age were still around. They asked for another drink after I’d given countless ‘last orders’ warnings, closed and counted up the till, took it downstairs and switched off the gas… So no chance. I absolutely hate it when customers ask for lock-ins because actually, I’m tired. And by expecting me to serve them drinks after I’ve closed the bar and am ready to go, it’s fucking inconsiderate of them.
I said no. I wasn’t going to change my mind.
I was stubborn. They were stubborn.
I said no several times. They asked several times.
But I wasn’t going to be the doormat that I sometimes am, not that night, and so I stuck to my original answer.
45 minutes later, they gave up and went away.
I returned home, upset and tired by what had happened, because 1) I hate it when customers expect lock-ins and 2)… well, one customer had seriously crossed the line.
He said that if I served him a drink, I could lift up my skirt, take off my tights and he’d ‘lick the alphabet’ on my ‘fanny,’ but only if my pubic hair wasn’t too long and had I had a wash today?
He actually said that.
He also repeatedly asked if I had a ‘sensitive clitoris.’
He actually said that too.
I was horrified.
Now, I may hear the occasional comment made by a customer that I disagree with, i.e. that ‘pakis are taking over the world,’ and I may or may not speak up about it. But this was different. This was an attack towards me.
Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before, but there he was, standing at the bar, saying those things to me, a FEMALE member of staff, working late at NIGHT on her OWN.
It wasn’t said in a jokey manner. He and his mate had jokingly been saying previously that we should have a threesome but I just said ‘Nah, I like my men with longer hair’ (his mate had short hair, and if I had a ‘type’ of guy I fell for, he wouldn’t be it), and then quickly said ‘But not you, Oli.’ Saying that now, I guess I should have seen worse to come.
Oli wasn’t even drunk. I’m not saying it would be OK for him to say it if he WAS drunk, but you know what I mean.
I was scared. I was made to feel uncomfortable to be in their company, to be at my own workplace, and I didn’t know how to react.
I regret to say that I laughed it off. I know it was the wrong reaction and that what he’d said was bang out of order, but like I just said, I didn’t know how else to respond.
After returning home that night, all I said to my dad (who is on the club committee at the club) was that two lads had wanted drinks after closing the bar, and that I’d stuck to my ‘no’ answer. Dad congratulated me for sticking to what I’d said and not being a doormat.
I went to bed and didn’t think about it until the next day.
I told a friend about what had happened. She offered to buy me some water from a nearby Greggs, with it being stuffy warm and not being able to leave my summer job stall. When she returned, I said ‘Oh my god, can I rant about last night at work please?’
She said yes, so I did.
As I told it, I realised just how wrong it all was. Saying the words felt disgusting, and I felt compelled to warn her several times before actually telling her what had been said. I didn’t want to shock her.
She affirmed my thoughts that what had happened was unacceptable. He had crossed the line and I couldn’t stand by and let it go unnoticed. She recommended I tell my dad.
For a few seconds, as she was telling me this, I considered if it was my fault at all. That night at work, I’d been wearing clothes that complimented my figure (complimented, that’s all – don’t go calling me a slut), so maybe I’d been ‘asking for it?’ The fact that I’d worn the same things without any trouble previously was not of importance right then.
But hell, I realised soon enough that actually, this way of thinking was fucking dangerous and shouldn’t actually apply to justice (although unfortunately, the law has used this argument in harassment and rape cases before) - even if someone is dressed as a ‘slut,’ blaming the victim is never going to help. And, quite simply, to suggest that a girl wearing nice clothes will suddenly transform a man into a misogynistic and intimidating arsehole who can’t control their mouth and/or actions is demeaning to men, and I’m not convinced.
I told dad about it when he was in the garden, back from a bike ride. I had to be off to work again quite soon, so I had to tell him then.
Between telling my friend about the incident and telling dad, doubts had started nagging at me again – maybe he’d think I’d been asking for it? Maybe he’d just shrug and say ‘It was just a joke. Get over it.”
But no. It turns out that actually, dads don’t tend to like it when a customer talks to their 20 year old daughter like that. He was furious with Oli. He told me that somebody had to confront Oli about the incident, demanding he apologise to me, saying how inappropriate it was and that if it happened again, it would be reported to the committee, and would I want to tell Oli this, or would I want someone else to do it?
I said that I could tell him myself, and he assured me that I wouldn’t be digging up old history by bringing it up, even if the next time Oli came in was weeks after, and that I couldn’t just go “Oh, it’s fine!” in my usual forgiving and pushover manner, whenever the confrontation would occur. Because it wasn’t fine, and both dad and I knew this.
I was upstairs working a function that night, and dad came up the stairs later on and asked could he have a word?
He told me that Oli had arrived downstairs and that he didn’t want me to come away from the party, and that he’d had a word with Oli instead.
Oli had come in with his girlfriend, and my dad, being the good guy that he is, called Oli away from her and asked to have a word. Judging by Oli’s attempt to intimidate my dad by moving close and looking down at him, he knew what it was about. It didn’t work though, because dad stuck his ground and told him that he knew what had happened. Oli apologised and admitted that it had been out of order.
Apparently, dad had wanted to have more than just ‘a word’ with him and wanted to ‘kick his bloody face in.’ But he didn’t.
So next time Oli sees me, he owes me an apology. And he knows history can’t repeat itself, because if he does, he’s out of the club. And there’s no chance that he can every speak to me or anyone else in that way again.
I thanked dad for what he’d done – for listening to me, for talking to Oli – but he said he’d not done anything.
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I haven’t. Have I got blood on my shoe? No, I have not got blood on my shoe.”
Like I said at the beginning of this blog, I’d never really quite understood how intimidating and damaging sexual harassment was, until I’d received it myself. It’s not nice. Having things of a sexual nature shouted at you across the street can make a person feel uncomfortable. It’s not a compliment if the speaker expects or wishes for something from the receiver (…sex). There’s a great difference between ‘I love your hat’ and ‘Y’alright love? Nice tits!’ LEARN IT.
But all in all, my experience of sexual harassment ended OK: people understood just how wrong the whole thing was and I wasn’t made to feel like I was to blame… I was lucky. But not everyone is. If you witness or receive sexual harassment and someone or you are made to feel scared and vulnerable, then please… just stand against it.
Hmm... I can't help but feel that blaming a girl for something like that for the way she's dressed is kind of like blaming a shooting/stabbing victim for not wearing kevlar - the point is that it shouldn't be necessary.
ReplyDeleteSorry your friend had to go through that, Dave. :(