Sexual Harassment at 17: A letter I wrote to my friend about a 20 year old co-worker

*Trigger warning for sexual assault and brief mention of suicide.

The other day, I was listening to q with Shad on CBC. His guest was Amber Coffman of the band The Dirty Projectors. She told the story of a producer who had sexually assaulted her at a party. This man had groped her and chewed on her hair. Listening to her voice tell the story, and hearing Shad empathetically listen to her, I realized for the first time just how many times I have been sexually assaulted in my life. Before this, I had written off these experiences as an unavoidable part of life as a woman. It was incredibly validating to listen to Coffman speak, but also very upsetting as I have never taken the time to realize the toll these assaults have taken on my outlook and relationships. I had almost divorced from my body in order to protect my mind. In an effort to correct this, I want to share a letter I wrote to my friend on Facebook after being harassed by a coworker. I was 17 at the time; he was 20. We both worked at the marina on a lake in Ontario. I worked in the convenience store, and he managed boat rentals.

I think this is where I began to develop the attitudes that really harmed me later. If sexual harassment is not really that wrong, then inappropriate touching can’t be that bad, and the logical step from there is that rape is maybe, sort of okay. Which of course it isn’t.

I’ve kept the letter exactly as it appears in the message box from 2010, with all the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. I have kept the names intact because I don’t care if he finds out I posted this. The only name I changed is a friend I mention who once threatened to commit suicide.

8/17, 10:13pm

hey, sorry to bother you…

hey bre,

sorry to bug you but i really want some advice. there’s this older guy at work, only by two years but still, who’s really creeping me out. he used to bother me last year but this year it has gotten much worse. for all of july he called me Hickey or BC which stands for Booty Call and made jokes about my being a whore and a slut. i used to just brush it off and it was fine. Later, he called me Slug which stands for slutty grandma because i do crosswords at work and wear sweaters. Yesterday i wore my long jeans and he said, “aren’t those a bit tight for a grandma?” i actually preferred this to being called slut, so i went along with this. the other day, though, he called me Karla Holmolka because he said that he betted that i “liked it rough” and “to be tied up and raped”. Today was the worst day of all. He asked me all sorts of personal questions, asking me if i had a boyfriend, if i had one in highschool, if i was planning on getting one in university. i told him no, no and i don’t know. he kept saying things like “i bet you’re secretly into me” and “do you want to go out?” he asked me if i was more of a hook-up girl. he followed me all around the store, and everytime i’d try and get away he’d follow me and ask me more personal questions. at one point he handed me a note that said, Hey chelsea, BDSM. later, as i was trying to get by him, he stuck out his butt and pushed me into the wall. he kept asking me questions over and over, and when i wouldn’t answer, he’d say, “oh, you’re just a prude” or “not into boys, eh?” at the end of the day, he invited me to this party and i told him i was busy. i honestly was, i was having dinner with my parents and family friends, but he wouldn’t let it go. he kept asking for my cell phone number “so he could say i’m sorry”. i told him to tell me in person and he did but he kept asking for my number. i didn’t give it to him, obviously, i told him my phone was dead and i’d lost the charger. “you’re lying,” he kept saying, which was only half true. when he finally realized that i wasn’t going to go to his stupid party or give him my cell phone number, he asked if i was going to be drinking tonight at all, and i told him no, and he kept asking why. there was this other guy at work who’s nice, but easily influenced, and they talked about what kind of drunk they thought i’d be. zach said he thought i was the kind who would take her clothes off.

it was all done jokingly and i wouldn’t make a big deal about it except for the way i felt emotionally and physically. my heart started pounding and i could feel the adrenaline kick in. all i wanted to do was leave, to run away from him, and i would have if he was the only one around. i was terrified today without really knowing why. i felt horribly naseous and if it weren’t for the customer who came in after he left i think i would’ve thrown up in the trash. i felt like crying and sort of wished i had never existed. i don’t know if i’m over reacting or not. that’s why i’m writing to you.

everyone at the store knows zach and he is tight with all of the employees. i don’t want to say anything but if this doesn’t stop i may quit my job early. when i wrote this to you i was shaking really hard like the time on that trip back to calgary from banff when i was worried about [our mutual friend who had threatened to commit suicide]. i don’t want to say anything to my family because they’ll over react and i don’t know if i even have anything legitimate to worry about.

please don’t tell anyone this. i love you and trust you so much, and i haven’t told anyone else. it’s embarrassing and i don’t want anyone to think i’m trying to get attention or flattery. and please, please, please don’t tell [your boyfriend]. i know you won’t but i’d be mortified if he found out.

thanks

chels