One of the thing I do is to volunteer at the a theater as an usher/clean up crew. It’s been pretty cool. I see things I would have never otherwise seen like Japanese drumming, symphony, and now short films about trout. The people are generally very polite and congenial. It’s clear which of the people there have had too much to drink and maybe say things they wouldn’t otherwise, but they are rare.
Last night there was a dude who was different. He loomed up over me and started with common questions about what the show was.
“Is this about fish?”
“Uh,…yah.”
“Is it fiction?”
“I dunno man. I just open the door.”
“You just open the door?….is it like a Scorsese film.”
“Ha. I don’t think so.”
“So, is it like a Scorsese?”
I’d noticed that he’d moved in closer. With my back against the wall, I did not like having a large man only inches away from my face. I kept turning away to hold the door and engage with other folks. He wasn’t budging.
He asked if I fish. I told him no. He asked if I camp specifically “in the raw” (whatever that means). My gut did not like his questions, proximity, or his inability to pick up on my cues that I felt I had fulfilled my usherly courteous obligation.
This seems like the time to point out that I’m NOT the type to overreact to challenging social interaction. I wouldn’t call myself a tough girl, but I really do spend a lot of time in enough very tough situations without panicking.
“I’m from the mountains. I just come down to town to see what’s going on. Are you from the mountains?”
“No.”
“Oh, you’re from Redding. Are your parents living?” What the actual fuck?
I continued to try to dismiss him. He proceeded to let me know about his daughter and his wife that moved back out of the county. (Shocking.) He talked about his family in so cal. “Do you surf?” As I type it out, it all seems benign. But his insistence and his continued closing in on me was unsettling to say the least.
A bunch of thoughts were in my head. Why the fuck did my fellow door man, Rose, not show for her shift? Why when I try to throw ESP signals to security are they not looking at this dude? Am I being overdramatic? Have I become instantly soft? Thankfully the gods of drunk men gave me a chance to dispel some of that. As this went on, some beer-spiller totally interrupted creepy guy and called out “you’re beautiful.” He was drunk (and inaccurate) but somehow not creeping me the fuck out. This told me I was reacting to this specific creeper for some reason.
Creepy guy continued to pepper with questions that I did my best to parry away. He’d look down on me and “hmmmm.”
At one point he let me know that his deceased mother warned him about women like me.
I’m literally just there to open the door for people to see the trout movies. He asked how I spent my time as a child. I didn’t answer him. He didn’t take the hint and asked again. “I’m not comfortable answering any more of your questions.” He then said something about how he never tries to take married or taken women.
Luckily I saw someone I knew and dipped. The someone I knew was with some other person who was able to say that he saw the creeper and that it was really weird. I felt relieved, but then then a bit annoyed that it was like I needed someone to confirm the strangeness of the encounter. I should know that my comfort level doesn’t to be sanctioned by others. My boundary is mine to define and needs no defense.
I wandered over to security and let them know there was a creeper. They don’t know me. I felt (right or wrong) that they suspected I may have been overreacting. I mean, what can I expect strutting around in that fanny pack and lanyard. Whether they thought my concern was warranted or not, they still kindly said they would “keep an eye out” and walk me to my car at the end.
The dude disappeared. The trout movies were actually pretty cool. And my night ended with me un-murdered. Win-win-win.
Because I overthink things though, I ruminated about my imaginary murderer.
It made me think of a great book I read close to 20 years ago; “The Gift of Fear” by Gavin DeBecker. It was given to me by my MSW internship supervisor, Gayle. I wondered if it was intended to turn me into someone who just knows they’re always about to become some sort of victim. That’s not who I want to be and that’s fortunately now how the book read. It was more about “listen to your gut.”
He did however talk about the trap that folks can fall in when they’re being agreeable. This is probably a grossly inaccurate paraphrase, but essentially, bad guys use our niceness against us. I think most people want to be nice and assume positive intent from others. However, that doesn’t mean we have to compromise our boundaries or ignore our gut when it sends up the red flag.
The creepy dude reminded me of some people I’ve known in my work who’ve experienced unspeakable traumas and as a result sometimes never develop appropriate social skills. I have empathy for those folks. That empathy doesn’t need to result in me tolerating what feels unsafe.
“Wow Crystal. You’re putting way too much in to a weirdo hitting on you.”
I know. I overthink things. But I wanted to talk about it. My story at home included “dude wasn’t reading the signs at all” which was met with “You were answering the questions. What do you mean he wasn’t reading the signs?” I’m sure Brian was caught off guard by my strong and abrupt position. But it was an instantaneous highlight of how we can accidentally make people feel like it’s their fault when someone encroaches on our boundaries. It’s not. I didn’t cause the film fest creeper.
Your boundaries are not a list of do’s and don’t’s. They’re the guardrails for what you will accept and not accept. They don’t require justification and it’s not your fault if someone violates them.
If your boundaries are tested today, that is not a reflection on you. It’s a reflection on tester. It doesn’t matter if it’s socially awkward grown ups or if its your hamster’s physical therapist holding a hand out for a post Hamster PT tip; no is a complete sentence.
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 