Jeans

When I was 18, I worked at Home Depot. Yep, orange apron and all. There was a locker room where you placed your personal effects before your shift. 

One morning, I approached my locker, bending over to pick up something off the ground. I could feel eyes on me. I turned around and an older man that worked in the carpeting department (let's call him Carpet Don) stood in the doorway staring at me--well, at my butt. I was more reserved back then, and girls are taught to be polite and kind, even in the face of indecency. I asked if he needed something. "No," Carpet Don said, "not when you wear a nice pair of jeans like that." He continued to stare, smirking, holding his position in the doorway. I squeezed past him, pacing toward my register to start my shift.

I later told my supervisor, Nathan, what happened. He insisted I inform HR with haste, going so far as to  offer to go with me if I wanted; and if I was scared, he would report it on my behalf. (Leaders: take note on how to support those under you). 

A formal complaint was put forth and HR let me know that Carpet Don (I really can't remember his name, nor does it matter) was reprimanded and disciplined. HR told me to let them know if anything like this ever happens again. As much as I disliked my job at Home Depot, I commend the company's urgency in addressing the harassment.

I don’t remember if Carpet Don was later fired or quit. In the weeks and months he remained employed, whenever we crossed paths, he gave me this look of disdain which spoke "you did this to me." I would feel that so many more times in my life--that feeling victims are meant to feel by there attackers: this is my fault.