I Wanted to Stay (A Sexual Harassment Story)

I had just been cast on my first post-college improv ensemble. We had real shows in real city theatres and I was working with a cast I had never met before. We rehearsed for three weeks before beginning a six week run. I was 22 and thrilled to be in a professional production. It was janky and we never ended up getting paid like we were told we would, but I wouldn't have traded it for the world. Our director was a middle age guy who I thought was smart, funny, and nice. I owed him, let's call him Pete, big time. Everyone else on cast was a company vet. He plucked me from a sketchy bar jam and took a major chance on me. I took the opportunity very seriously and worked my butt off. After our final show we had a big cast party in the theatre. I was on cloud nine. I had new pals, my first non-school resume line, and, mostly, I had done it. I had become an adult who did art. I was so proud.

So the party has been going for a few hours and most people are tipsy (I am sober). The group has dwindled to six, and we're just sitting around telling stories. Abruptly, Pete asks for my number, which is odd because he has it. The mood kinda shifts and someone maybe even says, "Leave her alone" in potentially real/potentially joking way. I feel awkward. Did someone just accuse Pete of hitting on me? I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable on my account. Especially Pete. I have a lightening flash of what could happen: I imagine someone misconstruing the comment, Pete feeling ashamed, and to avoid any future misconception, never casting me in anything again. I smile as genuinely as possible and say, "Oh, everything's okay!" Pete says something like, "See? She's not scared of me!" The conversation continues. Phew. But Pete's not participating. He's chatting quietly to himself about how he's gonna call me. Party's over. We all start picking up bottles when Pete says loudly, "I am going to call you. I'm serious. When are we going to have sex?" I freeze for one moment and then let out the most immensely unnatural laugh. I think the laugh makes Pete think I'm comfortable, when my brain is screaming, "Walk out of this theatre right now and never come back." Pete says some more stuff to me that I really don't remember because I am playing a rapid-fire game of mental chess to decide how to make this thing a non-thing. New friend Dusty takes Pete by the arm and says, "Help me out upstairs." Pete gets pulled away while literally screaming about my dimples. I wish could say I'm on the road in five minutes, but the drunk tech guy insists on walking me to my car even though I told him over and over I was right in front and I'd actually rather just go alone. At my car he leans against the driver's door (blocking me from entering) and tells me how sad he is, how much he wants a girlfriend. I tell him I want to go home repeatedly, but he begs to just sit in my car with me. I am cold, so I let him sit in the passenger side seat while I am as far away as I can be and still inside the vehicle. He talks until he's sober-ish. I finally drive away.

So, what did I do? Nothing. Why? Well, mainly, I wanted to stay. That company was the only professional comedy theatre in my city. There was only one director. There was an owner, but he lived in LA and Pete was one of his oldest pals. I walked down the line of possibilities and didn't see one where I would stay at the theatre and Pete wouldn't. Also, I felt ashamed. Maybe I wasn't actually that good at comedy. Maybe this is what he was after all along, and casting me was the long con. I decided if I didn't mention it, maybe everyone would forget. And that's essentially what ended up happening. I didn't see anyone for the week of Christmas. When we came back for a New Years gig Pete never apologized or mentioned what happened. I kept working with him for six more months. Sometimes he was harsh with me in notes and I wondered if he was trying to show people he was boss after I had shut him down. I'll never know. Maybe he honestly didn't remember the incident and no one told him. Anytime he was around I was mathing out if there were any possibilities of someone leaving and someone else going to the bathroom and me ending up alone with him. And then I'd write in my diary, "Don't be so full of yourself. You're blowing everything way out of proportion." I felt guilty to be afraid of something I never voiced to anyone else.

I did meet with Pete once privately, at his request, in a pizza place. He wanted to talk shop. I was sharp with him. Mean. He looked at me like, "What is wrong with you?" I felt bad but then thought, "Should I feel bad?" I still felt bad. I moved away soon after. He accidentally called me a couple years later. I picked up. We had a nice catch-up. Maybe it wasn't an accident. Even now, I don't want to say he is a bad person. Overall, I really liked him. This is still confusing for me.

My story is an extremely tame example of harassment. I am so lucky the worst I've weathered is an improv teacher talking about my boobs, another one mooning me, a professor asking me about my vagina in a grad school class, this dude being a creep. I honestly wrote this a few days ago and then decided not to post it because I was worried someone might see it and think I just want attention or I'm a wimp because this was barely harassment considering what other women have been through. But last night after a show some ladies and I got to talking about creeps of our past. Nothing life-ruining, but still icky. We'd all been there. WNT ended at midnight. We sat in the greenroom until 2. E and I were the last ones in, waiting for our cabs. She said, "I usually don't talk about this stuff because I don't want anyone to judge me, but I feel less crazy knowing I wasn't alone." And if this is how I felt, god help the women who were attacked, coerced, exiled. God help them do what they need to do because they too want to stay.

Dream, March 16 2017

I was on the cruise ship again. We were at port. I was on a beach with MB. She was, characteristically, being very social and bouncing about people partying. Someone I know treated me strangely and I asked for advice from a woman walking by. It helped. I went inside a sunken ship. I could not remember who our third female castmate was. I asked MB. She couldn't remember either. We tried everything (rereading emails, asking dancers), but everyone had forgotten.

MB and I went to the bathroom, and when we came out of the stalls we saw a man's face peeking in the door. I froze in fear. MB's instinct was to run after him. In a large, dark room of junk we saw a cabinet door creaking. She walked to it. I wanted to leave. Right as she was about to swing it open the man, middle age and Chinese, walked out. He didn't speak English and pretended he was looking for cleaning supplies.

We discussed him. Maybe he was just waiting to clean the bathroom. Or maybe he was a creep. We would never know. I remembered something in real life that connected to the fake world and woke up suddenly at 5:40. It came to me--there was no third woman on my cast.

Friday February 13th

Just got home. It's 3:15. Our comedy cohort had a workshop tonight. It ended at 8 and we gleefully gathered by the escalators. Together we made our way to Lincoln Square where a reserved table and karaoke awaited us.

The drinks started flowing. Star is in AA, so she said she was interested in ordering the lemon pie or a fried Snickers. I suggested we split both. Crooks and I sang "No Scrubs," our gang danced so good you'd think it was planned, and several nearby drunkees tries to become our best friends. While the too confident business men butchered "Sweet Caroline" the Texan Queen said, "The DJ should really be playing our request more since we're the ones who are kinda making tonight HAPPEN."

Pinker showed up late from another gig, but I had faith he would be there. "Summer Lovin" was already in the queue. We harshly judged the braceface couple mumbling "Kryptonite" by Three Doors Down. It got later and later, but I was wide awake. I only drank half my ginger beer, so the caffeine shouldn't have been that bad. At the very end of the night I inspected the can to find 49 grams of sugar on the label. Ah ha.

There were too many bits. But eventually, as all things, the evening ended. Crooks and I headed out for the brown line. We were gabbing so intently, we forgot it was cold. And then after about a mile of what was supposed to be a half mile trot, we realized we had gone the wrong way. Our train was in 8 minutes. We sprinted.

My feet were on fire from my Uggs. My core, a furnace. Sweat beaded down my face. We sprinted a mile and a half and saw the last train of the night pull onto the platform just beyond our stride. We kept running just in case, but no, that was it. The station guy told us.

We started looking up Uber rates. We started watching for cab lights. But everyone was leaving the bar now. A man on the curb garbled something about hitchhiking. He had glasses, a furry cap, and was holding a pile of papers.Then we noticed he wasn't trying to hail a cab at all. He was darting up to passing cars with his middle fingers raised. I started looking up how long I would have to wait for a bus to avoid the hiked fares. Then the stranger guy walked up to us and said, "People don't like that." He was very close and his zipper was wide open. No underwear. Definitely not going to wait for a bus. And then--

Pinker and Finn showed up! "Hey!" they said very casually. "You guys left so long ago! What happened?" They were going to walk a half mile to the red line, still running. "Great!" We said and showed them our sweat and vamoosed away. A long frigid trek is pretty doable when the alternative was a creep curb. We laughed too much and took in the bricks and graffiti. We passed the huge northside cemetery. "It's Friday the 13th!" I squealed. "We have to go in," Pinker said. We sized up the fence. It was too high to jump, so we just took turns tells scary stories. And when that was over we took turns thinking of horrifying things that might happen on the way home--maybe someone lives in that little nook beneath the tracks. Maybe we'd see a man with a knife in a window reflection. It was nice.

We of course waited twenty minutes for a train, but it did arrive. It did, and we got on, and Finn and I got off, and he lives just down the block from me, so I was never alone. These are the nights of 2015. There are only 365 of them, and many are already gone.

Thoughts on Les Mis (Part I)

First of all, I have an extremely deep connection to Les Mis. "Yeah, yeah, we all do," you think. "I sang 'On My Own' in the shower on the reg." Look, it's cute you think you have a serious bond with Les Mis, but what we have IS THE REAL DEAL, so do not even.

-I knew most of the music since early childhood, thanks to a cassette soundtrack in my mom's car. My favorite song was "Master of the House," which I would sing at the playground when I was on top of the jungle gym.

-At age nine I went to an open audition for young Cosette, which I failed horribly, missing my entrance cue and having to ask to start over. Shame forever. Needless to say, I spent the next three months replaying standing in front of the casting directors and nailing "Castle on a Cloud" until my best friend Fran offered me, "If you had gotten the part, your sticker collection probably wouldn't be as good because you would be on tour." For some reason this comforted me.

-I decided to make up my disastrous audition by performing Cosette's ballad at the 4th grade talent show. But when they called my name, I got so nervous I bolted out of the gym. The principal had to come get me hiding in the bathroom. BUT I DANG FINALLY SANG THE SONG, and peeps loved it (or at least they said so to prevent me from running into oncoming traffic idk).

-I saw that touring production I wasn't in, and my creepy obsession grew tremendously. You have no idea how many nights between 1998-2002 I biked alone to fields to sing concerts of all Eponine's music. No big, just crooning in the middle of an abandoned baseball diamond pretending I was bleeding to death in my true love's arms. MIDDLE SCHOOL, AMIRIGHT?

-My freshman year in high school, I was excited to be part of the musical, but when I found out the show would be Les Mis?! I flipped a lid. I knew I was too much of a pipsqueak to get one of the real coveted roles, so I set my sights on Gavroche. This time when I auditioned, I at least glossed over the mistake I made (saying "Inspector Valjer" instead of "Javert" during "Little People") and whatever YOLO I got the part!!!!! Thank the Lord I was flat-chested and my voice is that of a little boy's!

-You guys, I am pretty sure if you would have cut me during that fall, I would have bled sheet music. I literally ate, slept, and breathed Les Mis. Had lunch with my musical girlfriends, dinner with the cast on our breaks, in school constantly sang through my part (which wasn't very hard, so, pretty unnecessary). ULRA CREEP STATUS: I listened the soundtrack every night before bed. Yeah, all three hours or whatever of it. At 9 PM I'd be like, "cool, time to rage with Val Jean." I am sure could never forget the lyrics to any song if I tried really really hard and got Alzheimer's.

-I started dating my first boyfriend during the show. He was nice and cute, but more importantly, HE WAS PART OF THE BEST THING THAT WOULD EVER HAPPEN TO ME AND I NEEDED TO HANG ONTO THAT. He was a junior, but I guess not that cool since he kept dating me despite the fact I never wanted to kiss but always wanted to, like, reminisce about the choreography of the high school musical that had closed weeks ago. It genuinely did take me months to get over the end of that show, and when I did, I ditched the guy. You don't have to be Freud to realize that I literally tried to have a committed relationship with a musical in lieu of a human. Okay, to give myself some credit, the guy also loved Korn and was in show choir. I mean, not a match made in heaven.

And then something happened. I went on to see three more productions of Les Mis over the years. Each time I left slightly more disconnected than I had the time before. When it toured this year, I didn't go. I was even offered a free ticket, and I declined. Did I overdo it?

No. I still love Les Mis with all my red the blood of angry men heart. In fact, I've had "One Day More" on repeat as I've written this post. It's just that this is a personal love. A nostalgic collection of music and lyrics. To see a group of strangers performing it as I sit in an even bigger group of strangers watching doesn't feel right. This show moves me. I know so many people who hate musicals on principle, and it is scores like this that prevent me from understanding that viewpoint of taste.

In short: I am a certifiable looney tune. So get amped for my thoughts on the movie. Coming tomorrow.

Friday Night at The Bux

Just spent a really really long time at Starbucks. About five hours--which I think is the record for how long I've been in a Starbucks. I have a fond memory of studying at the Starbucks that was within walking distance of my house in St. Louis my junior year with Vince, Hunny, and Ty. I remember Ty walked in and Hunny and I both were like, whoa, Ty, you look really nice today. And Vince was like, "He's wearing jeans and a sweater. I'M wearing jeans and a sweater!" We examined and concluded, "Yeah, but Ty has a belt." Vince raised his sweater to show us a cloth belt with purple paint on it. Nice try, buddy. I think we were probably there for four hours max though.


Vince.

Here are some things I saw at the Starbucks that' on the corner of the two busiest streets in my college town:

1. Several people came in to just straight-up gank WiFi and chill. I would think a Starbucks in such a busy spot wouldn't allow this, but for some reason, it was cool. Noted.

2. A man and a woman in their 80s set up a card game at a table and kept talking about Gabby who was "supposed to have been here by now." They played a while, talked about how expensive everything was these days, and DANGIT WHERE IS GABBY? Some teenage boys walking by asked, "Are you guys playing Magic?" They were. Eventually, Gabby came. Gabby was a very overweight, disheveled early-thirties woman who toted a rolling suitcase.

3. Big homeless woman plopped in the easy chair next to me and gave a very impassioned persuasive (?) speech to "Rita" for about two hours. She was speaking loud enough that she distracted me from the revisions I needed to get done tonight, but not loud enough for me to hear a theme of her speech--just bits and pieces. Although, it's possible there was no theme. Rita was not there. This woman was definitely not wearing a bluetooth.

4. A bald Indian guy approached me to ask if I thought women were more like cats or dogs. His three friends sat at a table yonder giggling like mad. I said neither.

5. "Hey!" boomed a short man at the front of the store. We all looked up. "Who has change for a 20?" Sometimes, you forget, pretty much anyone at any time can decide to command attention in a building.

6. Dude comin' in tryin' to sell his mixtape to a bunch of uninterested people.

7. A woman meeting her friend's baby for the first time. Precious. Baby started screaming--the mom breastfed.

8. A cute older couple on a date eating a contra-ban ice cream sandwich with a shared coffee.

9. Several other people, like me, holed up with their computers workin' hard.


My drank tonight: Salted Caramel Soy Mocha.

ATTENTION: IF YOU'RE GETTING COFFEE AND YOU'RE DRINKING IN-STORE, ASK IF YOU CAN HAVE A MUG. BOO THROWING AWAY PAPER/PLASTIC CUPS!

Duet For One DI, Nationals 2006

Me and Pac after the Debate Banquet 2006

When I went to Nationals for Speech and Debate in 2006, there was this girl who performed Duet for One in a couple of my DI rounds, AND SHE WAS AMAZING. I remember watching her in quarter-finals and feeling I would be satisfied to lose to her. I even told my coach I was excited to watch her again in finals. But, then she wasn't in finals. She wasn't even in semis I don't think. I guess her talent wasn't as obvious to everyone else. But I thought she should have won the whole thing.

Now, this seems like I'm some weird creep who is obsessed with this stranger from five years ago...and yes, I admit, it's a little odd, but this is an open call out to that girl who was so good and got so little recognition. I've thought of her a couple times overs the years and hoped she had a good time in Dallas even though she was shafted.

I googled this yesterday: "duet for one" "DI" "Nationals 2006" "speech and debate." No results. Maybe she will one day do the same and find this, and either feel a little happy or feel a little scared that I am typing this from her closet...heh heh...heh....I just never told her I thought she was awesome! At least let me tell you, you people who have no connection to this entire event!

There is no future. There is no past. Let's live this moment as our last.