At 10:30 in the morning on a Wednesday, a drunk
old man walked into my work. This isn’t entirely
uncommon because I work in a local market which is attached to a pub. He had a PBR in his hand and he smelled like
this wasn’t his first drink of the day. I
greeted him with a smile, introduced myself, and went about my business.
(Hanging heart-shaped crackers from twigs in the front window display, in case
you were wondering. I have a rilly fun
job.)
PBR examined a few t-shirts, stumbled around a
little, then walked back to the pub.
Then he came back to the market to ask me my name again. Then he came back to tell me his name and
that he liked my necklace and he liked me.
Then, he followed me with his eyes every time I walked through the pub
on my way to the supply room. I kept my
gaze neutral, focused on the back door, pretending I couldn’t see him. Then he followed me back into the market to stand
just the tiniest bit too close to me and to ask if I was mad at him. I smiled
and replied, “I’m working right now. I
won’t be able to chat.” He
stumble-stomped back to the pub and that was the last I saw of him.
As I walked to my car after work, I was on
edge. My heart was racing just a little
bit and I felt agitated. I love my work
and I’m usually happy and peaceful when I leave, so these feelings were baffling. Then I realized. PBR McStinkyshirt had done this to me.
Even though I was working, even though I was
clearly about 40 years younger than him, even though I was certainly not
displaying any feelings toward him other than employee-like hospitality, this
man decided that none of those things mattered.
He decided that his interest in me entitled him to interrupt my work and
aim his creepiness at me, whether I wanted it or not.
I am still shaken and annoyed (mostly annoyed
because ewww, you nasty man, you really messed up what was supposed to be a fun
morning at work) when I think about this day. I am very, very (very!) tired of
men and their ogling. I am tired of
stares that last way longer than they need to.
I am tired of words that make my stomach knot up, of men standing closer
than they should, of having to keep my eyes straight ahead so I don’t appear to
be inviting attention.
There are some charming humans who will say that
the attention from these men is harmless (he was just looking!) or that it’s because of the way
I was dressed (maybe I was asking for it) or that it’s because of the way that
I look (you have to get used to that, Katie, it’s just because you’re pretty)
but all of that is, as the French say, le bullshit. The implication is that it’s not a man’s
fault when he does oglethings, that his hormones or a little pointy-eared devil
on his shoulder or Rambo make him incapable of behaving in a civilized
manner. Women are supposed to be cool
with all kinds of unwanted attention because the men just can’t help
themselves. They’re only men and
besides, it’s all in good fun.
Guess what, guys.
It’s not fun and it’s not good.
Every time your eyes rest on a woman for more than a few seconds, you’ve
gone too far. You’ve made her
uncomfortable because you’ve barged your way into her life uninvited. Every time you hoot and holler on the street
because you like the way she walks, or speed up in your car to get a better
look, or do the sleazy “Goooood morning,” as you pass her in the hallway and
stare at her chest, you’re forcing a little bit of yourself onto her without
her permission and when it’s over, you take a little bit of her away with you.
If I had a large microphone or was Oprah, I’d
yell this loudly, but I don’t and I’m not, so read carefully. All men everywhere: stop trying to take pieces
of women away from themselves. Women are
human and they’re whole and those pieces aren’t for you. And if you’re one of the men who never does
these things, that’s great, good job. Do
me a favor, though, when you see a dude doing an (even very tiny) oglething,
give him a nudge and say, “Knock it off, man.
That’s a human being over there.”
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