Cool Hand Luke
I felt his hand pat my butt. “When you get a chance; could we get the check, sweetheart?” I froze. Get your filthy hand off of my butt!!! My mind screamed. I smiled a weak, passive smile and moved away from him. I heard his drunk wife’s shrill voice behind us: “Did he just touch her ass!?” to the other 4 drunken people at the table. I wanted to die. LEAVE. Just, leave right now, please. Get the fuck out, ALL of you!! I tallied their bill and slid it in front of Mr. Cool Hand Luke who was now standing on the opposite side of my bar. “Thanks so much, you did a really great job.” He said as he jotted down the total, tipping me an extra 25 bucks on top of the already included gratuity. I took the check back without a word and watched as he joined his group.
I felt like a victim for about 30 seconds; and then I felt really irritated. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world that’s moving more toward equality of the genders, the races, the sexual orientations and the classes; I am still reminded that we have a long way to go.
I tried to picture doing anything to a guy that would make them feel like a piece of meat, but all I could think about was maybe patting them on the head and being really patronizing. I felt frustrated. I could raise a stink about this, I could call that guy out, have his wife feel more ashamed and embarrassed than she probably already feels (Hell, she has to go home with that slime-ball at the end of the night…) I could tell my manager what happened and have her throw those people out… I mused over the scenario of all 6 of those loud-mouthed drunks getting tossed out of the restaurant. Eh, not worth all that fuss.
Unfortunately, this is not a new problem. I am a 25 year old waitress in a dark room with a lot of drunk people on the weekends who are out to have a good time. The benefits of being young, pretty and single are certainly fun and plentiful, but the down side is really gross. I’ll get texts from older men who want to “see what I’m up to tonight” and cat-calls on the street. Sometimes, all I want to do is throw a burka on in order to avoid the salacious stares and whistles from construction workers. This problem is not only mine, I see it happen to other girls, too. I see girls just trying to get from point A to point B, not wearing anything overly sexual, getting all sorts of nasty comments thrown at them.
To all you you sad, lusty, sexually frustrated, bored, men who feel, I dunno, trapped? And look at me and think I’d be a nice roll in the hay: go fuck yourselves. And then figure out how to get yourself a therapist to get you to a place where you can be happy, balanced, and not feel like you need to take a quick swipe at a girl’s butt in order to give you a thrill.
November 11, 2012 at 6:35 pm by Natalie Allen