Since the scandal detailing Harvey Weinstein’s laundry list of crimes emerged last week, I’ve heard many men say that they’re stunned about how pervasive this problem is, and I’ve heard many women respond with “…seriously?” So I thought I would share a story.
This is a tale of the two best and worst minutes of my life; worst because a man tried to harass, then assault me, and best because the same man was then beat up by a recognizable actor who listened when I told him about a big problem.
My mom is a media personality of sorts with a quick wit and a great sense of humor. She does a lot of public speaking, performing, and general goof-balling, so she meets a lot of interesting people. One such man is a comedian and actor that you would immediately recognize for a series of commercials for a popular fast food chain, and a popular TV show about a fictional vice-president. You probably know him as “oh yeah, that guy!”
One night last year, my mother was a panelist on the show Wait Wait, don’t tell me! For those who don’t know, it’s a news quiz that is broadcast on NPR once a week. It has random trivia, sound-effects, puns and comedians. By their own admission it’s even nerdier than it sounds.
After the show, I went out for a drink with the panelists at their usual spot. There were six of us, and we all sat in a long row at the bar. Things were winding down when a man walked in.
He was graying in spots, built like a bear, very friendly with the staff. I took one look at this man and every cell inside me screamed one thing:
Trouble.
I quickly realized he was drunk. I was sitting at the end of our group and everyone else was distracted. I looked like easy prey.
So, he tried to chat me up.
I gave him a no-nonsense reply: Go away.
That may sound harsh, but this guy could have been Idris fucking Elba, I still would’ve given him the brush-off. It’s my right as a human being to sit in silence, and I really wanted him to leave me alone.
He started postulating about how weird I was being. I brushed him off in many different ways, until he finally broke:
“God!” He exclaimed, “I’m just asking a question why do you have to be such a bitch?”
Without a second thought I walked over to the manager and told him what happened. He agreed that the man needed to leave. As the manager approached him, he began to scream at me, calling me every single gender-specific slur he could think of, which as it turned out was quite a lot.
Only as the drunk idiot was being dragged out of the bar did my mother and her associates, all of them kind and intelligent men, notice what was going on. When I was done assuring everyone that I was fine, I turned to the men in the group; two writers, a comedian, and of course “oh yeah, that guy!”
“Attention Men!” I began, “I want you guys to know that what just happened to me, that happens to women all the time. None of you noticed it. And why would you notice it? This doesn’t happen to you on a regular basis, and I bet nobody has ever brought it up with you before. But I’m talking about it now, because these guys don’t pick on men. And if you’re aware of the problem then you can help.”
They nodded, one of them even thanked me for bringing it up. As we exited the bar I gave myself a mental pat on the back for talking about something awkward. Then, I glanced across the street and cursed inwardly: the drunk idiot was there, staring at me.
The second he spotted me he came charging straight towards me, pointing at me and calling me “bitch”. I am not tiny; he was twice my size and could have easily lifted me up and thrown me over one shoulder.
That’s when something truly incredible happened.
“Oh yeah, that guy!” stepped in front of me, and told the man to go away.
He didn’t.
The altercation that followed was brief; when it was over the drunk idiot had bumped his head on the pavement, lost his phone, broken his glasses, and been banned from the bar for life. He was last seen stumbling down an alley, cursing loudly and trying to avoid the cops.
I’ve replayed this scene a hundred and fifty thousand times, and it’s difficult to articulate exactly what I felt. Fear, of course, a bit of embarrassment; I watched a brawl unfold standing with my mother, her friends and colleagues, and several waitstaff. I was so stunned I briefly forgot both my rescuer’s name and how to dial my phone.
Most of all though, I felt pure, unadulterated joy. Joy that I had spoken up, and joy that this had been witnessed.
There exists an understanding amongst women about the dangers of harassment, but it’s rare to have a man see the toxicity of this type of behavior. Men like Mr. Weinstein try to hide this side from other, better men. Good men then come to believe that something like this isn’t possible, because no man could be this horrible. After all, these men aren’t this horrible to them.
It’s not your fault; they are artful, two-faced liars, assuming that men won’t notice harassment since it rarely affects them, and women won’t talk openly about it because it’s just part of being a woman.
But there is power in speaking out, I know that because one night, when I was tired of going it alone, I told four good, kind, intelligent men exactly what was happening and how they could help.
They listened.
Literally one minute later, that choice saved my life.
The Mistake Maven is here with a great story about her #metoo experience and what a big difference one person speaking out can make. I know it’s all true, because I was there!
soulsistrin 