Harrassed!

I spent a night in a jazz bar with friends, chatting and drinking, and not really listening to the music, when a guy touched my hip repeatedly, intentionally and knowingly against my wish. He followed me around the room so it was clear that this was no accident, and I started to shout at him to stop touching me. I deliberately made a scene to draw attention and show him that he couldn’t get away with it. I was feeling quite brave, being tipsy, and having my friend Jack with me.

He shrunk back from me but didn’t say anything, and his pal was very apologetic and angry at his friend which made me think that this might have happened before. I kept shouting for a bit and suggested they leave, but when his pal said that they had just got drinks and if it would be ok if they left after finishing the drinks, I said fine.

My other friend Calum came over and asked what the commotion was, and when I told him he went off and told the bouncer - even though I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t really know how to feel about this. I grew up quite sheltered and have never been in a similar situation - verbal abuse or sexism, yes, but never actual sexual harassment! I wasn’t scared - rather the opposite, I almost enjoyed shouting at that poor guy!

My friends asked if I wanted to take this further, but I thought that was disproportionate, especially since the guy was so taken aback when I shouted at him. For some twisted reason I didn’t want to get him into trouble, and I think the fact that he wasn’t white also played a role - I did think about racism in the police. But my main reason was that I didn’t want the hassle of talking to the police this late at night in my tipsy state.

I was wondering though if I was letting other women down by not reporting the incident. Calum said it was absolutely up to me, and the three of us left soon after. We cycled together for a bit, and then stopped for chips, only that the chippy was closing up and we had potato fritters in a bun with ketchup instead, which was quite disgusting, but preferable to the only other option, a haggis pie in a bun, and actually quite nice. Sitting by the canal in the dark in the middle of the night eating greasy food was brilliant.

And then Calum’s phone went. The jazz bar bouncer called - he had a police officer there who wanted to ask Calum a few questions about the incident. At 2.30 in the morning. I shook my head at Calum while he answered the questions. No, he didn’t see the incident himself. No, he didn’t know my last name. I was quite grateful. To him, for reporting it in the first place, but then letting me decide what to do or not to do, and to the jazz bar staff for taking this seriously.

Looking back (through the alcoholic mist…), it seems quite silly. That guy’s touching my hip had more the quality of playing tag rather than anything seedy. But if I hadn’t been with my friends and if the staff hadn’t reacted as supportively, I might have felt very differently about the incident.

When I talked to my friend Nat about this the following night she said that these things happened all the time in some other bars and that the staff there wouldn’t do anything. I wouldn’t go to such a place! In fact, I was having this conversation with her in the same jazz bar, because I can trust that such behaviour isn’t tolerated there. But the discussion must have left an impression. That night, I dreamed of being followed and threatened by a young, skinny, crazy guy with a knife - a Swiss army knife, would you believe it - and I woke up from shouting for help.

Oh well, Schwamm drüber as we say in Germany. I’m just not a pepper spray kind of girl.