The Worst Part of the Trump Tapes
Alaura Weaver

I’m 19, an Army brat working on base during the summer between college school years. I’ve grown up around hoots and catcalls and officers with too much liquor in them saying inappropriate things at my parents’ parties — not that often, but often enough to remember specific incidents. I’m the secretary at the base teen club. A handsome, young lieutenant stops by almost every day and flirts with me. He thinks he’s the shit; it’s clear in his walk and his talk. I don’t like him, but he’s my superior-so I keep my mouth shut and just smile. One afternoon, I’m up and doing something in the cubicle, when he walks by, says something, and slaps my butt with his military hat. Not sure where it came from, but I whip around, stare him right in the eyes, and tell him that the next time he does that to me, my typewriter (yes, it was THAT long ago) will be a part of his face! I was deadly serious. He got the message. Never touched me again…or talked to me, as I recall. From then on, I had no trouble shutting a misogynist down. Most men in my life weren’t and aren’t sexist. The few make the whole look bad and that’s unfair.

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