I still remember the smell that hit me, the first day, a combination of bread, aged beef, and bleach; and as I walked in through the back doors of the restaurant, I felt terribly nervous about interacting with the General Manager. My sister had already warned me how serious he was, and to be very respectful, and always on time; I wanted to make a good impression on him. My sister took me to work since I was just a few days shy of my sixteenth birthday; she was still obligated to drive all of her younger siblings around.
She introduced me to the GM and he waved me into his office to put me in the computer system. Since he knew my sister I had not even filled out an application for the host position. So, when he asked for my identification and social security number I did not have any with me, not being informed I needed them. He laughed and said not to worry, I will just put in a random number for you so you can clock in. I thought nothing of this, at the time, but when tax season rolled around, and my Mother got a notice I had provided a fraudulent tax document, I remember there being a scramble to correct the mistake. Afterwards, the owner of the restaurant admonished him with an endearing tone “I told you not to do that anymore, man!” Since I was taught from a very early age to never question authority, and especially men, I thought it best not to say anything about the very clear disorganization and casual law breaking that was happening right out of the gate.
The first time an adult man paid attention to my appearance at work was during my second shift at the restaurant. The bartender stopped me and asked my name and how old I was, then whistled through his teeth telling me I was jailbait. I had recently been launched out of a very Christian background where boys and girls were separated as much as possible and interaction with male leaders was usually accompanied by a female counterpart. This environment was also paired alongside a commonplace betrothal of eighteen to twenty year old females getting married shortly after high school, often to men, sometimes, as much as five years (or more) older than them. I did not think to ask why he was paying attention to me in this manner or why he was crossing very evident and potentially dangerous boundaries that would have clearly been flagged to those with an education expanded outside of my own. Instead, I reveled in the idea that this man, a grown man, wearing a tuxedo shirt, vest, and bow tie, standing in front of a wall of whiskey and wine, thought I was pretty and mature.
At the time, I did not have any mentors to explain to me that a grown man should not be attracted to a teenager. I had not being educated on the different aspects of sexual grooming, not to mention that my sex education as a youth had been founded in purity culture. I had never been taught the term “Safe Touch” or the concept that men who are attracted to teenage girls are, in fact, pedophiles. I was unaware that The Bartender’s seemingly innocuous friendship and admiration was leading to something that would in fact leave deep emotional scars and cause me much confusion and distress then, and into my adulthood.
Over the next two years The Bartender and I developed what I felt was a true friendship with an underlying tone of mutual attraction slowly moving into a physical relationship. Starting with a brush of my hand at the hostess stand as he asked about my day; grabbing my waist to move me out of the way so he could check the reservation book, brushing my bottom with his hand when I went to throw something away in the wait station. The touching seemed flirtatious and friendly at first, then it became more romantic and forbidden. I still vividly remember him reaching down my blouse, bypassing my blazer, fully cupping my breasts, over my pastel pink bra, as I reached down to get water glasses in a beverage station. He sang “Pink is My Favorite Color” by Aerosmith in my ear.
That was a point of no return in many ways for me. I had a major secret to keep and being very aware of statutory rape laws, because of the aforementioned early marriages that were occurring in my church and school realms; and because of the dating aspects going on at school in regards to, eighteen year olds dating minors who were also their peers. I knew he and I would both be in trouble if anyone knew he was feeling me up in the dark corners of the restaurant. Although, I wasn't wearing anything unapproved by management: a black tailored suit, a solid colored blouse buttoned up to at least the second button, and practical black shoes. Somehow, in my mind, it was still my fault The Bartender, as a twenty three year old man, could not keep his hands off of my sixteen-year-old body.
Something to understand about the purity culture is girls are taught any sexual advance, abuse, or assault after you have reached puberty, is most likely your fault. Girls as young as thirteen are taught to be modest so they don’t become a stumbling block for boys and even men, an absurd and dangerous concept. Children in this culture are taught from a young age that boys and girls are inherently different and as they grow into adulthood girls must be extra vigilant and support their brothers in Christ by dressing modestly and keeping themselves pure.
Uninvited sexual interactions meant you did not dress modestly enough. You wore too much makeup; you danced too close to him and aroused his senses. You got in the car with him and trusted him to take you straight home and not to the backside of the local park, just before your curfew. Short of a person breaking into your home to rob and rape you, a sexual attack was the victim’s fault. The Evangelical Church teaches women must submit to men and part of this instruction is founded on not questioning the backward belief sexual assault is normally somehow the fault of the victim.
Abuse culture teaches the victim to make nice and forgive so everyone can just move on. A practice fed by a habit of denial based on the need for the many individuals, corporately agreeing, to ignore their own misgivings and deep moral failings. These factors as well as the corporate failures of the Evangelical Church in general, foster secrecy, lies, and cover-ups.
Speaking up and saying something, it just wasn’t done, and it was certainly not supported by any leadership in the churches I attended in my youth. Rarely is it a consideration that boys should learn to keep their hormones in check despite the spaghetti strap tank top a girl wore to the church social.
So, when these sexual assaults at the hands of The Bartender started, an awareness that the assault was something I could tell another person about did not even occur to me. Plus, I was sixteen now, almost seventeen. Almost a senior in high school, almost to a marrying age. When I was growing up, eighteen was the tenable age between college years and finding a husband, for a young girl in Oklahoma. Stay in school or marry rich was not just an old adage; it was part of the Rule Book. With all of this miseducation under my belt I was confident in my belief I had invited these violations. The bartender couldn’t resist my blossoming beauty and growing curves. It certainly wasn't his fault he couldn't deny his manly urges. He had a different hormonal makeup and should not be expected to keep his hands off of a teenage girl.
On the other side of this coin was the pervading misogyny and inherent dysfunction I had yet to discover existed in the Food Service Industry. In other words, little did I know, women were often viewed as objects, teenagers were fair game as dating prospects and drinking buddies, sexism was then, and is now, alive and well.
I was often told to “just stand there and look pretty” when I talked too much. The customers needs and wants were always put before those of the staff; so ignoring crass jokes and inappropriate remarks was just another part of the job. One night during a wine dinner a drunken patron grabbed my butt, pulled me close to him and kissed me on the mouth. He did all of this in front of his wife, son and daughter-in-law and as I fled for the dining room my face red, hot tears coming down my cheeks, I just knew I had to tell the GM about it. I rushed to his office where I found him sitting at the computer and I proceeded to tell him what had just happened, crying all the while. The GM, instead of the outrage I expected, laughed, shook his head and stated matter of factly, “That man has more money than God and you will let him do whatever he wants to you. You will be fine. Now, get back out there and get to work.” After that, I never again considered reporting anyone else who decided my body was fair game for their unwanted advances.
I wonder, had any training in sexual harassment been offered, much of what was going on around me, terrorizing me, would have had civil attorneys scrambling to take cases after only a few phone calls reporting the blatant abuse. Looking back on this period of time, and as an adult, often has me shaking my head. I have to question, who failed me and why? I suppose one could say it all started in the Evangelical Church but then that doesn’t explain why the secular world handled sexual assault and abuse in a very similar manner.
Find a way to blame the victim, relocate the abuser if necessary, sweep the details under the rug, and move on, while encouraging the victim to look at both sides and make nice so everyone can just get along. Basically, pretend it never happened and go on about your day. So, if I can’t identify who was holding these pieces and let them fall, as opposed to gluing and fortifying them to make me successful, then the responsibility goes back on me, as a sixteen year old kid.
The incidents of sexual harassment I experienced as a teenager were not isolated to one restaurant and have not abated in my almost twenty years of roles within the Hospitality Industry. In fact, even as a married woman, within the last two years, I was groped at a fundraiser, by a man who not only knows my husband, but also owns multiple restaurants in the metro area of Oklahoma City, I am more than aware of women, exposed daily, to his misogyny and abuse.
Every person knows these actions.
This culture is not right, and until we all take up aggressive action against the root of all of this deeply toxic culture, more people will suffer. And I will not stand by, it is not who I am. As you can be on one side or the other of this incredibly broken coin, deeply shocked or deeply aware, a truth must ring true.
If one does not have a right, none of us do.
This fight is all of our responsibility. Let’s stand up, share our stories of survival, expose the abusers, hold the leaders of the Food Service Industry accountable, and strive for a better future for all of us.
If you or someone you know is in an abusive or controlling relationship,
contact these
organizations for more resources:
The National Domestic Abuse Hotline:
(800-799-7233) http://www.thehotline.org
Victim Connect Resource Center: (855-484-2846) https://victimconnect.org/about-us/
Comments
Post a Comment