Continued: The Past
Last weeks blog consisted of two scenarios of inappropriate public touching.
On the first poll, Cop a Feel was the answer. Here’s the story behind that answer. (Ha, no pun intended. I crack myself up – oops another pun.)
That naive lady with two kids in a stroller who screamed was a much younger, passive me. I’m sure I’m not the first nor the last person to have her buns squeezed in public by a complete stranger. First I was shocked, unable to believe what had just happened. I watched the man walk away before I even screamed, and then was terribly shaken-up by the incident.
Why would a stranger think touching someone else’s person (anywhere) as an okay act? I don’t get it!
The mall was Fairlane Town Center. The man was a huge, African-American, and was obviously out to amuse himself that day. I didn’t find it at all amusing and neither did my husband who heard me scream two stores down. By the time anyone got to me in the mall in front of the store, the butt-grabber was long gone. I just wanted to get the boys and myself out of there. We didn’t report it, instead we left quickly, never to return. I dealt with that invasion by telling myself, it could have been so much worse. In hindsight I know I should have hung around and at least reported it to security.
Incident two . . . the answer is, Do No thing and Live Happily Ever After.
This second occurrence happened to a much older, more wise, and aggressive me, (or at least I thought). I’ve enjoyed ushering with three lady friends for several years at different Detroit venues.
This invasion took place at The Fisher Theater a few weeks ago.
I was one of the ushers assigned to not only seat people before the show, but to stand in the lobby and answer questions during the intermission. I placed myself next to a lovely sculpture and wished someone would ask me something, because it felt strange standing alone. Be careful what you wish for!
Someone came up quietly up behind me and brushed my ear with a soft kiss and then gently cupped one cheek . . . and that cheek was not located on my face, folks. My blood instantly boiled, I spun around, a tight fist ready to slug whoever had the audacity to touch me. The follow-through fell short though, and so did the man. He must have stood on his tiptoes to reach my ear. The instant he saw my livid face, (I’m sure it was red and contorted) his turned a ghostly pale. His broad silly gotcha smile(meant for someone else) turned to “Oh My God,” as the embarrassment consumed him. The choked apologies and explanations were quick and sincere as were the tears that filled his eyes.
He had mistaken me for his life-partner who was the same height as me, short brown hair and also wearing black. This homosexual man was mortified past extreme. He made his way to a nearby bench.
All I can say, is I’m so glad I didn’t punch him in the face. I have a feeling he learned quite a passionate lesson without me having to be violent or reporting him to management.
The lights dimmed signaling guests to return to their seats.
A moment later I saw a dark-haired gentleman, dressed in black, searching the area frantically. I asked if I could help. He seemed concerned that he had lost his friend. I asked if the person on the bench with his face in hands could possibly be him. He nodded and raced over. The two men hugged and continued walking arm in arm through the double doors to their seats.
I’m not quite sure how his side of the story was told. But I can’t help but chuckle when I think about this incident and all the things that could have happened or I could have said.
Well, I’m definitely older, maybe somewhat wiser and certainly a bit more aggressive, I at least made a fist this time. And I would have used it too. But as it was, compassion won out. I did nothing and am living happily ever after with that decision.
Click here You Can’t Touch This
Anyway, as always, thanks for reading my words and sharing my experiences. It is fun experimenting with the polls and sound bytes.