“It was always scary going down there. The darkness encompasses you and the smell of old fried food and musty rags fills the air. Piles of boxes and forgotten objects fill up that foreboding, gloomy space. Usually, on the occasion that I am sent down to retrieve a missing object or to stack and fold cake boxes, I descend the stairs wishing I was not alone. This time I wasn't. I didn't see him at first. He must have followed me in and hid behind one of the stacks. As I was leaving he appeared out of the shadows. It was one of the cooks from the kitchen. I had never spoken to him, except one small interaction about a week ago, in which he asked me how old I was, "Only days away from turning 18," I said. Why was he in the basement, and why was the door shut. I didn't remember shutting it behind me. I never would for fear of being locked in that dismal old mine. He approached me and a wave of fear rushed over me. It was as though I was watching myself through a screen, my mind racing with all the things that could be about to happen. I swiftly headed for the door pretending not to see him. He grabbed me, his arms wrapped tightly around my small figure and I froze. "I have a birthday present for you," he said as he grabbed the back of my head. He leaned in to kiss me but I turned away. "No please don't." I said as I tried to push him off of me. He began kissing my cheeks and neck, trying to get to my mouth. He squeezed me tighter. I repeated myself, "Stop, please." pushing at his chest "But it's my birthday present to you. Come on, you'll like it. Just kiss me girl." I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to get away. 'What if he raped me, right here in the basement of the restaurant. I didn't even know him! Did he think I wanted this based on the few times I waved at him through the food window?' Finally I squirmed out out of his grip, racing upstairs. He followed me up, into the bar which was located in the front of the restaurant, a place I had never seen him come into. "You hungry girl?" he whispered in my ear, after walking up behind me. There were other coworkers around and customers waiting in line for pastries and evening coffee. I laughed trying to appear normal. "I'm always hungry" I said as my manager, smiling at the seemingly innocent relationship between an 18 year old busser and a 40 something year old cook, walked into the bar.
I went home that evening stuck between wanting to cry and scream, and wanting to pretend the whole thing never happened. Sitting in my room I felt almost as frozen as I had in the basement storage room. 'Do I tell someone?' I decided not too, I convinced myself that it wasn't THAT big of an incident and that I probably led him on in some way, and really the whole thing was my fault. Coming to that conclusion didn't make me feel any better though, in fact I got this horrible feeling as though a rock hard ball was lodged in my chest, making me nauseous. I began to think about all the girls who suffer at the hands of men taking advantage of them. Was this the same sort of thing? Was I choosing to be quiet about something that If it were to happen to anyone else I would feel so strongly about acknowledging and taking action on? One of my best friends has spent years of her life already, working as hard as she can to bring awareness to sexual abuse. And I have supported her and helped through the whole thing. I realized that by holding this is in, not only was I hurting myself, but I wasn't standing up for all the women in the world who have spent their life suffering because of incidents just like this, an issue that for so long has been ignored and even shut down, an issue that for the first time in history is actually being acknowledged to an extent.
I texted my manager. I told him what had happened. he was shocked and hardly believed that such a thing could happen; which I found interesting given that 1 in 6 girls get raped, much more groped and kissed against their will. He spoke with the owner of the restaurant and he contacted me, asking if I would meet with him. Although, I had chosen to tell them, I was still hating myself for something. I wasn't sure what for, but some part of me felt like I had done something wrong, really wrong.
I went in to meet the owner. To my surprise he was kind and gentle. He informed me that the cook had been fired because "it is absolutely unacceptable for anyone to touch your body, or anyone else's without their consent." He told me he was very proud of me, as a woman, for standing up for myself and doing something that so many woman are too scared to do.
Obviously I am still hurting. It was a shitty situation. But that night, as I texted my manager, I broke through some shell, a shell I hardly knew I had built. I spoke up for something that needed to be spoken about, and I realized, fully, for the first time in my life that IT IS NOT OKAY.”