Yesterday morning, someone began to seriously toe the line of friendliness versus sexual harrassment with me. He’s a nice guy–we say hello whenever we see each other and he asks how my day is going. If he seemed to fixate a bit, I chalked it up to the fact that he seemed to be a bit… I don’t even know what the politically correct term is–“developmentally challenged”, perhaps? Slightly retarded, in other words.
Yesterday morning, however, while I was getting breakfast, he came up to me and began to make really odd comments, on repeat. The conversation began innocuously enough: questions about where I was spending break, if I was looking forward to going home, if I was looking forward to coming back. Saying I better come back from break, “‘cuz it would be a shame for such a pretty, pretty girl to leave Rose”. Several similar statements regarding my looks were made, with a definite sexual overtone before I managed to grab my done bagels from the toaster and get the hell away.
Right. So. I was a bit creeped out. Just a bit. Thought about talking to his higher-ups, thought about getting serious with him–he’s apparently one of those who thinks I’m all smiles and giggles, and fuck if I know how he got that idea. Thought about just telling him I was uncomfortable with the way he talked to me. Not sure how that last could go–somehow I suspect there would be pleading me not to tell his higher-ups, like I’m some kind of goddamn blackmailer.
But there is the distinct possiblity that it was just too early in the morning, and I read into his (definitely) effusive praise more than was there. It happens. Well, not usually to me, but I’ve heard it has happened to other people. I’m usually not effusively praised at all.
I suppose I shall just sit on this. (And twirl? Nevermind…) I’ll probably forget all about it over Christmas break (which is actually why I wrote it down here, so I wouldn’t), and things will be cooler when I return. Because things just fix themselves like that. Much like potentially killed potential friendships in which you are left with no damn idea where things stand, because, dammit, you didn’t put a request for a read receipt on that e-mail, but the stony look at dinner–or the pointed not look–leads you think the e-mail was either destroyed upon reading the subject or identifying the sender, without having been opened, read, or considered for discussion.
Um, yeah. Just like that, too.