An Open Letter to the Employees of Crabhouse LIC

To the seven male kitchen staffers:

Last night I watched three of you physically carry your kicking, screaming female colleague from the kitchen while four more of you looked on and laughed. I watched as you folded her body in half and forced her, rear-end first, into a garbage can. One of you took pictures with a cell phone. I watched in horror as she struggled to free herself from the trash, the receptacle falling over with the awkward imbalance of weight and her flailing movements.

She laughed, but it was the nervous laughter of a frightened person. The sort of laugh that women often perform in order to avoid further scrutiny or injury. We smile and laugh because we are afraid of what you may do in retaliation if we make known that your actions are unacceptable.

Let me be clear: as a matter of decency and law, your actions were completely unacceptable. As a matter of sanitation, you also should know that, as workers in the food industry, your colleague’s rough placement into literal garbage was a violation of numerous health codes, all of which you have personally certified to uphold. Not only that, but this act was a betrayal of your dining patrons’ trust and the reasonable expectation of clean food. But ultimately, this was a profound trespassing of your colleague’s agency and her bodily autonomy. To put it bluntly: you assaulted her. This woman is your coworker, and you have absolutely no right to lay hands on her body.

Based on my own experiences in the restaurant industry, I can guess that this is exactly the way you’ve been socialized to treat a woman who has the audacity to work with you: like garbage. And if this atrocious behavior is publicly available to witness from the sidewalk on a Wednesday evening, I can only imagine the horror you put her through behind the closed doors of that restaurant’s kitchen. You, gentlemen, are garbage.

To the manager on duty:

When I told you what I had just observed taking place outside of your establishment, you seemed confused. Despite my clarity of voice and precise detailing of events, you didn’t appear to truly grasp the gravity — much less reality — of the situation. “I had no idea,” you said. (Well of course not, Sean, it’s happening right now and that’s why I’m telling you: SO YOU’LL KNOW.) But after I left, frustrated that you didn’t so much as rise from your seat in order to investigate, it occurred to me that what you really meant was: I don’t want to know.

Having the knowledge that your kitchen staff has singled out a woman to harass and assault must be an inconvenient responsibility for you. You might have to act on that knowledge. You might have to do something. But in all likelihood, even if you know there’s sexual harassment and physical assault occurring in your restaurant, you will continue to do nothing. Just understand, Sean, that your inaction is causing very real and lasting harm to someone who just came here for a job.

To the woman employee:

I’m so sorry this happened to you. It’s not right and it’s not — on any plane of reality — normal or acceptable. You have the right to work wherever you want and a right to a safe and respectful environment free of humiliation and personal degradation. That your coworkers forcibly picked you up and dumped you into a trash can is reprehensible.

You’re body is yours and yours alone, and I am disgusted that we continue to live and work in a world where we are told over and over that this is not true. Such transgressions directly contribute to a culture that excuses rape as “boys being boys” and rhetorically asks women seeking change and justice, “well what did you expect?”

I’m also very sorry that I didn’t help you. I made a split decision to appeal to your manager on your behalf instead of help you out of that garbage can. But in all honestly: I was scared. I could see how outnumbered you were and it frightened me. I was afraid that if I intervened, these men would hurt me and do worse things to you.

As much as I swelled with righteous indignation, I recognized my size (small) and remembered my own experiences (brutal), and erred on the side of safety. What’s worse: I really thought your manager would care and act in a judicious manner. I should have known better. We both know that these employees will avoid reprimand and continue to make working with them a living hell. Of course you laughed; it’s that or cry, and if we cried at every injustice we’d never stop.

So I’m writing this letter in hopes that others will read it. Maybe readers will feel disturbed enough to speak out against your experience or share their own stories in order to shed more light on sexual harassment in the food and beverage industry.

I’m writing so that perhaps attention and public shame might motivate the management of Crabhouse LIC to deal with the disgusting behavior they’ve institutionalized through ignorance and inaction.

I’m writing because, really, there’s nothing else I can do for you. And for that I am also sorry.

See the CrabHouse’s Yelp page and website for contact information.