Unspoken in 1984

In honor of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford for her testimony. Kavanaugh's confirmation is a brutal slap in the face, but I commend you, Dr. Ford and the other victims who came forward. It must have been very difficult, but know that it wasn't done in vain. I pray that we see the real fruits of your labor at the polls this November.

This is just one of my many #metoo stories. It may seem insignificant, but it's my story. It matters to me and is typical of the type of conduct that went unchecked for way too long ...

A group of men were crowded into the break room, standing in a circle drinking coffee and telling stories. They spoke loudly as if everyone were hard of hearing, often breaking into boisterous forced laughter. An older woman was trying to maneuver past them to make coffee. Lost in the building on my first day, I paused in the doorway and caught the eye of one of the men. He tapped the forearm of the man next to him which stopped them all from talking. The woman took notice and rushed toward me, abandoning the coffee pot.

“Good morning! You must be the new girl.” She didn’t pause long enough for me to reply but instead grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the break room. “My name’s Ginny. This is the sales team.” She introduced me to each one, but their names, single-syllables only, non-descript just like their faces and clothes, all jumbled together. The last man was named Peter, the one who had first noticed me. He was still grinning and staring. Goosebumps populated my arms and a steely chill surged up my spine.

He cupped my hand in both of his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you a lot better.” I retracted my hand with more force than necessary. The pit in my stomach rose up to my throat. Within five minutes of entering my new job, I wanted to leave, but I desperately needed that job and jobs were really scarce back then.

Ginny sensed my uneasiness and cut in: “Let me show you around.” As soon as we were out of earshot, she said, "Whatever you do, don't get caught alone in the warehouse with him," she leaned in, "if you know what I mean." She walked off without elaborating.

I caught up to her. "No, I don’t know what you mean. Tell me." I was a week away from turning twenty-one.

Ginny laughed as if I were joking. We arrived at the office side of the building. Ginny introduced me to the two women I would be working with, Vicki and Joyce. They glanced up from their desks with blank expressions. They each muttered a banal "Good morning."

Ginny cleared her throat and said, "Well, I'll just leave the three of you to get to know one another."
After she left, there was an awkward silence, so I started with: "Ginny said to make sure I don't find myself alone in the warehouse with Peter. What did she mean?"

The two women gave each other a knowing look and laughed like it was an inside joke.

Joyce pointed toward the desk in the back of the room. "You'll sit there."

“What did she mean?” I demanded again.

No longer laughing, she looked me in the eye and said, "We don't talk about it. Just do what Ginny said. Don't ask any more questions."

Each day I was on edge whenever I had to go into the warehouse and whenever Peter came into the office. He would touch my shoulder or my hand. After about a month he progressed to rubbing one or both shoulders, placing his hand on the small of my back, offering to give me a neck rub and proceeding to without my consent. Each time I pulled away, each time I looked for back-up from my coworkers who always had their backs to me.

One day he came in, and started rubbing my back and leaned into me like he was going to whisper in my ear, or maybe he was going to kiss my cheek. I'll never know because I lost it. I screamed "NO!" as I pulled away and proceeded to hyperventilate. For a moment, Joyce, Vicki, and Peter looked at me like I was crazy, but Vicki at least tried to come up with a solution. She pulled a plastic bag out of her lunch, I emphatically shook my head; she threw it down and found a paper bag. Eventually, my breathing slowed and I realized Peter was gone.

The next few days, I felt self-conscious like everyone was talking about me freaking out. I didn't see Peter, thankfully. No one spoke to me, but they hardly ever did anyway. Had I over-reacted?

That Friday just before quitting time, my supervisor called me into a conference room of men who I had never met before. It was apparent that they were the higher-ups of the company. They said that my probationary period was over and they decided not to keep me on. I told them I didn't even know there was a probationary period. When I kept pressing as to why I was being fired, I was told that Joyce was having to do some of my work. When I asked why didn't she tell me I had this extra work, they mumbled some answers but nothing that made any sense.

Back then there was no such thing as sexual harassment. Back then, we were just expected to put up with whatever happened to us; there were no repercussions for the men who did this. People may look at this as so minor a thing that it's not even worth reading, and I admit, it is minor in the grand scheme of things, but it had a lasting effect on me, and ultimately caused a major turning point in my life. So when people question events like this that happened 30+ years ago and wonder how someone could remember it clearly, and why does it even matter now, I just really wish I could answer them and put it into words that they could empathize with. When something happens to you that makes you feel like nothing, like something less than a person, it matters. It never goes away, and it will always feel like it just happened yesterday.