Two weeks ago, I was minding my own business, rereading an old favorite book in Barnes and Noble.
I am the type of person who gets lost in books; I laugh, cry and get angry right along with the main characters...if you try to talk to me while I am reading, chances are you will have to repeat yourself at least once before you have my full attention.
I prefer books over people, or shall I say, I prefer books over random people I don’t know that also happen to be in the same bookstore. I’m not there to make friends. I’m there to be with the friends I already have, aka the books. Aside from the library, Barnes and Noble is probably my fourth favorite place on earth.
That is part of what makes what happened two weeks ago so upsetting for me and why this post is titled “ruined”.
Two weeks ago, I was approached and sexually harassed in the middle of Barnes and Noble while reading a book.
He didn’t act like a turd when he came up and introduced himself to me. He wasn’t overtly creepy and didn’t make me feel uncomfortable....at first. But let’s be honest. I was in what I considered to be a safe space, pulled from the middle of one of my favorite SciFi novels. Half of my mind was still on the story, while the other half of me was smiling and nodding and regurgitating the overused polite nothings that are categorized as “small talk” in this day and age. I wasn’t paying that close of attention to what he was saying. I was hoping he would just go away so I could finish my book.
He didn’t go away. He sat on the floor at my feet (I was in a chair) and proceeded to try and have a conversation with me. And this is where so many of us women get taken advantage of or put in situations that leave us feeling gross, filthy and used. I decided to be polite. I closed my book - with a little sigh - looked him in the eyes and talked to him. My momma raised me right; I have manners (even if I don’t always use them) and at this point, I considered the conversation an opportunity to die to self. I think I even offered it up to God saying Your will be done.
I don’t remember the specifics of the conversation. I’m sure I could if I wanted to but I’d really rather not. What I do know is it took him less than 10 minutes to go from asking me out to telling me in an extremely crude and derogatory fashion (that I will not repeat here or ever, for that matter) that he wanted to have sex with me.
I have a nimble mind and a quick wit. I have a comeback for anything anyone says to me but in that moment, I was struck speechless. I was angry. Disappointed. I felt threatened, attacked, ashamed and sick all at once.
The only thing I was capable of was spitting out the words “I am very done with this conversation and you need to leave right now.” Some comeback, eh? To his credit, he did leave, although I’m sure it had less to do with what I said and more to do with the way my entire demeanor changed as soon as he said what he did. I went from nice, polite Rachel to you done fucked up Rachel in a matter of seconds. I’ve been told I wear my emotions on my face; I am sure he looked at me and saw his best option was to scram. I’m thankful for that.
I waited a few minutes, checked my purse for my knife and kept it tightly in my hand while calling my best friend Katherine as I exited the store. I wasn’t sure if the guy was going to be waiting for me or not. It was night and the area was pretty dead. I did not feel safe. I felt exposed, threatened. The only thing I wanted to do was go home but I made myself take a longer route and paid close attention to my rear view mirror as I drove. No one followed me home.
I cried on my way home. I cried again telling another close friend what had happened. I was loathe to tell my roomate/sister what had happened to me because I felt ashamed. I was reluctant to tell anyone because I felt guilty about what had happened, even though I knew none of it was my fault.
This is the mindset of people who are victimized through abuse, harassment or exploitation of any kind. They feel guilty. They feel like they deserved it. And if they don’t get up the courage to tell people and have someone to contradict the terrible voices in their head, the consequences can be fatal. I came so close to telling no one what had happened because I didn’t want anyone blaming me for what happened. I was already doing a fine job of blaming myself.
I think the most upsetting thing about this whole encounter was that I know for a fact if he had taken me out, if he had bothered to get to know me at all, I seriously doubt he would have said what he did. (I mean I could be wrong, some guys are completely disgusting.) It wasn’t cool to be reduced to the status of a thing, no matter how briefly. It was humiliating and degrading.
I’m not sorry I was polite to him. I don’t regret being kind at first. I don’t think dying to myself and entering into a conversation with him was the wrong choice. Nothing I did was wrong. What he chose to do with it was but I can’t control him, I can only control me. Which is why the next time a guy approaches me in Barnes and Noble (if I can ever get up the courage to go back), I might be a little more wary but how I treat him won’t change.
My biggest regret of the whole encounter was my comeback. I wish I had been capable of explaining to him how and why his comments were the wrong way to treat women. I wish I had been able to encourage him to treat women with respect in any future encounters he has with them. I wish I had been honest and told him how he made me feel, instead of just telling him to go away, because I would like to think his intent was not to make me feel like trash. His delivery was certainly lacking but everyone’s does once in awhile.
The one plus to this whole sordid affair is that I am prepared to do just that the next time something like this happens to me. The next time?! You ask in horror. Oh yes, because it's happened to me before. And it will probably happen again.
The good news is that next time, I will be ready for it.
