I wrote this last week after overhearing a most disturbing conversation at my local neighborhood pub. I debated whether or not to post it, but ultimately decided to do it. Who knows? I may decide to take it down again tomorrow . . .
Okay, so tonight I head over to the local pub around the corner to work on my words to share for World AIDS Day tomorrow morning. It’s one of my most productive places to get work done–just enough background noise that it’s not distracting and while everyone is friendly no one talks to me for very long. The servers know me and usually will even run interference if necessary.
And then there was tonight. I sit down at the edge of the bar, leave a seat between me and the closest person–a curious looking fellow and his buddy–and start writing.
Now those who know me, know that while I am more than comfortable talking with old men at bars (even if creepy), I tend to avoid anyone near my age like the plague. And while I’m sure part of that has to do with my inability to be attracted to available men, I’m convinced that mostly it has to do with the fact that most individuals I meet near my age at establishments such as these are creeps.
Creeps, I tell you.
So, tonight I’m writing away and this guy next to me starts to hit on me–somewhat subtly at first, then more aggressively (when I don’t really respond or give him much to go on). If there was any doubt that he was hitting on me, that was dissolved when he yelled (and I mean yelled) at his friend for interrupting his grand plan for talking to the girl next to him (“man, I was just noticing her hotness [insert comment: Damn, you really are drunk, aren't you?] and trying to start a conversation” [insert comment: which I was clearly trying to avoid].) His friend then starts to talk about this man’s kids. And his wife. If I was grossed out before, I surely am now.
The two compatriots then proceed to exchange more gender-based insults and comments in one sitting than I have heard in a long time (douche-bag is my personal favorite. Sir, I [don't] hate to inform you that you are not going to be successful tonight).
Okay, so this is not entirely unusual (if still not agreeable–or acceptable–) conversation that I will do my best to avoid. But then they step it up a notch. Dude buys some beverage to take home and dude’s friend’s comment is “someone’s getting lucky tonight!”
Lindsay’s ears perk up: “seriously?!”
Dude then proceeds to share how he tried that with his wife last night–he “loaded her up” with red wine, Ambien, and marijuana and still “no luck.”
Lindsay’s outraged internal dialogue: “seriously? Am I really hearing this? You’re talking about how you tried to rape your wife last night?!?! And you’re upset it didn’t work?!”
Oh my god, get me out of here.
I look around frantically for another place to sit–all the tables are full.
At this point dude reflects (oh how gracious of him!) that he’d prefer another way anyway–one where she was more involved. At which point he proceeds to engage in a game of verbal charades–he physically acts out how he’d like the sex act to occur while expressing what he’d like to hear as well: “f*** me! f*** me!”
Oh my god. Get me out of here.
So here’s where it gets frustrating (or sad?)–really. A male staff member happens to see something going on (the bartender is female, too, and also avoiding this dude like the plague) and comes over and stands next to me. Apparently, the look on my face is revealing: he asks me if I’m okay? Is there anything he can do? I say, “No, I’m fine.”
I say, “no, I’m fine.”
I am clearly not fine. Why did I say otherwise? Why didn’t I interject into their crazy conversation that I think they are crazy and yucky for glorifying and encouraging rape culture? Why didn’t I tell the staff member when he asked, that I was not okay?
Short answer? I was scared. This conversation hit a little too close to home for me. I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t want to draw attention. I didn’t want to be “overly sensitive.” I didn’t want to be outed. I didn’t want to be the angry feminist.
What?!?
But that’s the reality of it. Even with people standing beside me (bartender and other staff member) I felt powerless. Powerless against these two moronoic, stupid, clearly idiotic and drunk men. As a bright, smart, accomplished, protected woman, I felt powerless–paralyzed even. And that there is the power of gender-based and sexual violence, my friends. It turns the world upside down. Otherwise “strong” women are rendered terrified in the face of moronic men at the local neighborhood hang out spot.
Ultimately they left, but I am left with the reality that I didn’t say a damn thing . Didn’t say one word to those men to let them know that what they said was not just uncouth (as his friend said), but violent. And hurtful.
I know that ulitmatley this responsibility can’t lie with me. That we need allies in this fight–that the relegation of gender-based violence to a “women’s issue” (when perpetrators are overwhelmingly men, and therefore is, in reality, a men’s issue) just further ensures its marginalization. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was scared when I didn’t want to be. That I was so scared, in fact, that I couldn’t even articulate what I needed when asked in that space to feel safe. And I’m not disappointed in myself for that–I’ve come a LONG way, but I am sad that my voice was buried. And the voices of so many women. And that nothing was said to those men. But the unfortunate reality is that I am confident I will encounter many more circumstances such as these, and as such I will have more opportunities to stand up to that articulated violence. And who knows? Maybe next time I’ll find my voice. And watch out when I do.
I’m enraged but speechless. My gut tells me you did the right thing by keeping silent on this one. If you weren’t alone, it would have been less dangerous for you to get up in their grill..
Oh for sure–their state of intoxication clearly would have prevented any meaningful exchange. I still, though, would have liked to be able to have made that choice for myself in the moment though, you know?
Hey, I get to see you soon, don’t I? I’m excited for that Mama Oisie
Thanks for telling this story, Linds. I’ve been there…in that powerless/paralyzed place, letting a man be verbally or physically violent…in public and private. One time I was in a TINY breakfast cafe, one with just a counter and no room for much else. Two men at the counter were watching big-busted women shoot people with big guns on a mobile device. They made several loud, totally sober, comments about that being a “real” woman, laughing, evaluating, etc. I was infuriated and silent. I lost my appetite and said nothing. No one did. NO ONE. Not even the cafe owner, who could see that his FRIENDS were making everyone uncomfortable. UGH
I am glad that I have also witnessed young men and old men intervene in these kinds of situations or I might totally lose hope.
Thanks for sharing your story, Gobes! Yes, it is not an unfamiliar one to many of us–though we often keep silent about it and so it seems that way. Thank you, too, for reminding us that there are those who do speak out, and their voices truly are grounds for hope.
This is a good challenge. I am terrible at speaking up–and struggle to know when doing so will actually create more good than harm.
Many of the shocking conversations I hear are when I’m riding the MAX. Sadly, many of the people participating in them have probably been severely impacted by ignorance, poverty and sometimes racism. In those cases, I fear speaking up would just make the problem worse–possibly even start a fight.
However, in the case of the pompous, polo-shirted, khaki-trousered ass on the plane, who asked the woman with the screaming newborn, “What the hell are you doing to that baby to make it scream like that!?”, yes, I am very ashamed to have said nothing. Especially being a new Dad who could sympathize with her plight.
There was another man on the plane with more courage than I, who told him to cool it. Props to him for being a “bigger man” that day than all the other people on that plane, including myself. May God grant me the courage to be that man next time.
Hi, friend–
I always appreciate your thoughts and reflections. Thank you. I think your hesitation on the MAX is sound–it’s important to be mindful of our positionality in these things, absolutely. In regards to your other scenario . . . yeah. Fear keeps us from living into what we value all too often, doesn’t it? We forget in the moment that while we may feel alone in those spaces, we never really are.
Thank you for posting this, Lindsay.
Thanks for reading, Trace . . .
P.S. I have to add that I want to apologize on behalf of the male gender. We are not all like this, and those of us who are not need to do a better job of showing moral leadership amongst our male peers.
Thanks, Brian. While I don’t think you need to apologize on behalf of men everywhere (though I’ll take it!
), I do think it’s important to recognize one’s positionality within a privileged group (and I think you do). I also know that there are a great number of “good” men out there even though the men who are the loudest perhaps are not (I’m seeing some parallels to the Christian community here . . . ). And here is where I think you’ve hit the nail on the head on why SA is not just a “women’s issue.” It not only impacts the very mothers, daughters, sisters, lovers, friends who you love, it impacts the way the world sees you (the general “you” here, Brian). I’m astonished that more men aren’t infuriated by that–and perhaps they are, but at the individuals who see them that way instead of the dynamics of their brothers that caused it in the first place . . .
Thanks again, friend, for being an ally in the journey.