First

Posted to Work on 4 January 2007.

by Lynn — Age 49 — Columbia, MD

My first grown-up job, the first one I found in the classifieds and interviewed for, was working behind the counter at a deli/fast food place. At the time, I didn’t realize that any half-way decent looking chick would have been hired, just as I was, on the spot. Being terribly young and almost fatally naive were just added attractions for my employer.

I kept thinking that I was imagining it, that he wasn’t really brushing up against me like that, it was just that there wasn’t much space behind the counter. But as my discomfort grew, so too did my alertness. I noticed that he always seemed to find a reason to pass behind the counter if I was standing there, and that he never did this when there was anyone else in the store.

I was just twenty years old and, despite my belief that I was ready to take the entire world on and conquer, I was still very innocent. Looking back on myself, I find it hard to believe I actually survived those first years of independence. Raised in a secure environment, totally unaware of what the real world held, nothing in my life had prepared me for this. The term “sexual harassment” was still 30 years or more in the future. Instinctively I know that it would be his word against mine, that he would look all innocent and appalled, shocked that I could think, let alone utter, such allegations against him. And the more I accused the worse I would look, this crazy girl accusing this man, this stalwart businessman, of outrageous behavior.

So I took the easy way out, and quit. But then, I had to tell my father why, after only a month, I was quitting my first job. I was certain he would discount my suspicions and downplay my fears. And then I had to restrain my father from going there and ripping my ex-boss’s head off.

So I learned some important lessons. I learned to trust my instincts, that actions are more important than appearances and most of all — that I could tell my father when I was concerned, that he would listen, and even believe. That was priceless.

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