I am a piece of meat. A juicy piece of meat to be poked and prodded and salivated over by ravenous animals. Nah, just kidding. I’m a human being. Though that’s not as much fun for the aforementioned slobbering idiots.
Harassment is a hot topic lately. At least I think it is because I’ve read a couple headlines and memes and whatnot. And THIS. So let me rephrase: W. Kamau Bell and I think harassment is a hot topic lately. As a living and breathing woman this day and age, I’ve encountered some of this nonsense, and boy I’ve encountered some doozies!
Let me tell you, I’m usually a pretty enthusiastic audience. I’m just fascinated with these guys and what they deem appropriate to say to a strange woman. Oh, I’m a cunt? It’s about time someone was honest with me. Let’s go have some coffee. Oh, I’m a 6? Thanks, dreamlover. Here are the keys to my motel room. I’d love to shrink to the size of a protozoon and hop into a microscopic spaceship and blast off into the inner workings of their brain. What would I find? Probably not much more than a panda playing the cymbals, random posters of boobs and a shitty Van Halen song wheezing on the gramophone. I apologize: shitty Van Halen song is an oxymoron.
I work part time as a bartender at a small brewpub. Which in men’s minds means that I engraved invitations and sent one to each and every one of them and they read: You are cordially invited to make ridiculous comments about my body and face and/or compare me to other women in the bar or in the entertainment industry. Please RSVP to hoot and holler inappropriately while I bend over to retrieve something I’ve accidentally dropped. I look forward to being objectified by you while I do my job!
No joke, the other day, two grown ass men were trying to argue with me about whether or not I had dimples on my butt. Seriously. Butt. Dimples. I wanted to barf on the bar and then brush it nonchalantly into their chinos. If I worked at an establishment called Twin Peaks or something, then by all means, let’s also discuss the circumference of my nipples. But no, I don’t work at Twin Peaks. They wouldn’t hire me on account of the circumference of my nipples.