Sexual Harassment # 3

This one can be given the avant-garde title, Fluorescent Lights.

It’s hard being sassy. I don’t know why I choose it every time. I’m probably a glutton for punishment. It was mild sexual harassment that somehow morphed me, the victim, into the perpetrator and got me fired from Barnes & Noble. (Note: The last S isn’t there)

This guy shows up to my counter with a playboy and some black & white NY historical photo book and at the time of paying, he decides to make it rain. 

He put his hand up and just sent bill by bill into the air and watched them fall. 

Or maybe I watched them fall.. It was only a few bills but as they scattered on the counter I’m thinking .. 

Dude, I don’t know what you do with your free time or what about dollars makes you go into a rain frenzy, but look around bud, there’s fluorescent lights on in here. You are not where you think you are, also who the fuck buys titty-mags from Barnes and Noble?

You see me – I’m in a company polo AND I’m wearing a name tag! 


Did you really think ‘making it rain’ would just go unnoticed? 

Maybe he thought I wouldn’t know what he was doing? I mean I don’t imagine he’s making it rain for Jose when he buys his bacon egg and cheese at the corner store.

I didn’t pick them up. Nothing against strippers.

In the terribly uncomfortable seconds of silence, I smiled. My bad. I was thinking of Jose’s reaction when this guy says, “Let me get that BLT. wink-wink” Or at his local bar when he orders a $2 bud light and he’s got his hands up dropping one bill at a time.

Fuck that. This guy is a prick.

I laugh but this is personal, and I’m no child. Worse if I was. I pick up the bills and ask, 

“Do you always pay for things like that?”

“Like what?”  

Like what? The fuck you mean, like what? Are you not aware of what’s going on. But instead, I say, “Like you’re paying a stripper?” 

He was shocked. Him!  – The audacity I had? Right?

Please..You should have seen his open mouth shocked-white-guy, ‘No-one-talks-to-me-like-that’ face. He walks straight to customer service and finds my manager. 

I can see his arms flailing as they talk. He’s totally irate – the manager comes over.. I’m watching them walk towards me, counting out wrong change and shit. I’m sweating. He succeeded in making me uncomfortable. A little later than he hoped for, but succeeded nevertheless. Finally, my manager comes talking into her walkie-talkie. 

A walkie-talkie. Again, we sell books. This is not a nightclub. People are pretty much reading, as that is what they they came here to do. There’s not a whole fucking lot of noise pollution that any one person needs a walkie talkie. 

So, Barnes and Noble’s finest asks me to come off the register and talk to her in the back. I walk past him as he’s waiting to see that the resolution of this ordeal is to his liking. Steam is coming off of his skin and he’s got death eyes pointed my way. 

Immediately I enter one of the stranger conversations of my life.

Did you tell him that he threw money on the counter like he was paying a stripper? 

No, I asked him if he always throws his money like that?

What is ‘like that?’

Like one would throw money if they were in a strip club.

You can’t say that to a customer? 

I gave her common sense. 

He asked me to say it. No one makes it rain by accident. 

It’s not like he’s new at paying for things, or some foreigner who doesn’t know how we do things in this country. 

This is not a misunderstanding. He’s a total pervert. 

She sat back into her seat. Closed her eyes and sort of melted into her chair a bit and then stood up abruptly to say,

“He can pay you anyway he wants to. What you can’t do is accuse a customer of paying strippers?


“I didn’t accuse him of paying strippers.”


Without further delay, she used a formality to fire me.


“You can’t use the word stripper. I am going to have to ask you leave. 

And out the door I went. #georgethorogood



Sexual Harassment #2

A couple years later, I was working in produce, Natural Grocers in Colorado. Seems fairly innocuous, right? It snowed like 3 ft before I even got to work. Total bullshit. I couldn’t call out – I really wanted to. The amazing do-ers of Colorado would not find it sensible to stay home. No, they would laugh at you and your “fear” of the snow.. Anyway, It’s a brand new location for me and a new manager to meet. Yay.

 I show up wearing two pairs of leggings, leg warmers, big waterproof boots, AND a face that says go fuck yourself FOR THE WIN when I meet the manager. 

She says, “Hi, are those the only pants you have?”

“Uh.. No?”

“Can you change your pants then?”

“Oh, like right now? Yes, right now they are definitely the only pair of pants I have.
Why do I need to change my pants?”

“Do you have a longer shirt?”

“What? What’s wrong with my pants?”

“You have to have pockets in your pants. I can see your ass.”

“What’d you just say to me?”

“I can see the shape of your butt in those pants,” said slowly for my benefit because I’m the idiot.  

“You would still be able to see the shape of my butt regardless of what pants I was wearing.” I’m thinking if I should thank her… I always wanted to be home. She gave me precisely what I was looking for. 

Side note: have any of your seen this ad for pants that put your butt into position. Pants: the ones that you wear. If you – {all of you women who have lost all sense of what it means to be attractive} took your head out of your ass, you would know YOUR BUTT is attached to your fucking spine and doesn’t have any other option. Zombies. 

She says to me, “We have a company policy that you have to have pants with pockets in case someone’s looking at your ass. We’ve had sexual harassment issues before.”

Before this moment? Well, wait till they get a load of me. I quit, but naturally I didn’t stop shopping there – because if I dared not enter where my ass caused a scene, I mean. Where would I go? Anyway, one day as a patron, I’m shopping, holding some avocados and she comes to see me at check-out. Super smiley, Colorado style. Holding no grudges whatsoever and says,

“Oh hey, did you see the new bamboo-silk underwear we got in?” 

Lady, what in the world does my ass do to you? I mean, have a little self-control? Isn’t this God’s country?

Sexual Harassment #1

I’m part of the look-better-naked group. Does anyone know about this life? I promise it’s just as real as any one of your other categorical bullshit.

I’m 5’2 and it always looks like I’m wearing children’s clothing and I am. 

The perfect size leggings for these so-called legs is boys medium. 

I’ve been the same size since 5th grade. 

12 years old fully-grown. 

Do you know how sarcastic that makes a person?

 “Lucky is more like it” People want to say, rolling their eyes or worse yell at me… but that got me thinking just how un-lucky we can all be when it comes to size. 

Originally, I started dating to have more random sex. Results were less than positive. But I gave it a valiant effort. I said goodbye to the serial monogamist in me and joined the masses in spreading disease.

Psychosis, syphilis it’s all the same really.

It’s not working, the whole plan is making me rethink the word Lucky, again. 

7 Micro-Dicks later…I mean for a while there I would wince just when a man was about to get undressed. What’s it gonna be? What’s it gonna be? Please be a real boy. 

It is such a shame too. These are very nice men. I mean incredibly nice BUT that’s when you know.

If a guy is over the top nice, he’s probably got one of those head-only penises. He’s reaching because he can’t reach. 

Oh stop it. Dicks are not built equal. I’ve already had sexual harassment claims twice in this life, both claims against women.

You guys want to hear my sexual harassment stories? 

Can you please rate this story? How happy are you with this story? Would you recommend this story to a friend? You haven’t heard the entire story? Want to unlock this story? Just log in or sign up? Sorry that login attempt in incorrect. Did you forget your password? That is what my hell would be. That and videos of people applying make-up. Seriously why is that a thing?

Story begins now.

As a PT, I was in the middle of stretching someone. He was tall, like over six feet. He had mocha skin with green eyes – a beaut for sure… and a fan of playing sports that tall people excel at, which is what I like to call LIFE

Being short is a major fucking handicap BUT there’s no box for short on any of my government forms….Some people get into a relationship for sex, love, babies, etc. Me…. I just need access to the top of the cabinet. I don’t need a step stool, Steve is my step stool. 

So, my entire 5 ft what? 5 ft strong body is positioned over his stretching his piriformis. It was my job. I’m a personal trainer. We weren’t buddies and we weren’t getting weird. When the stretch was over I walked to the bathroom to wash my hands.. Normal fucking procedures. On the way, I pass my manager. 

A tall German who really had a thing for that guy. She had just gotten back from Germany. I asked how the trip was and she cuts me off and asks if she can talk to me for a moment.
“Ok. Yea.”  We walk into a closet like office. 

She then says, “I saw you stretching Chris.”
“Yea,” my face holds back a duh.  

“I saw you look at his genitalia.”

Um WTF. Ok. How did she say that with a straight face? Right she’s German.

“What did you just say to me?” I asked her.
She repeated it! Saying the unthinkable without laughter, twice. 

I mean could you imagine being so jealous that someone else is getting near the genitalia that you want, that you accuse them of looking at it and out loud…

People: He was wearing basketball shorts people over compression leggings. I mean fucking sick, bro. Sick. That was the first time I called HR. They made her apologize and a strong recommendation that she purchase a dildo. 

And your name is Lisa

About a year ago, I was searching for a job on

I had my resume posted so that recruiters could contact me. Normal shit. Then, this guy Steve emails me about a job, addressing me at the top of the email as Lisa.

Dear Lisa, we would like to interest you in blah blah blah…

Who the fuck is Lisa? Lisa don’t live here no more.

The job was still relevant so he wasn’t a total loser. I emailed back questions. The only thing I got back was,

“Oh I got the names mixed up.” Nothing else.

Nothing about the job. Not one answer to any of my questions. My name is in my email address. It’s the first word. Impossible to miss. Asshole. I want to know how he got hired and how much he gets paid –  from an office where apparently Metallica’s, Nothing Else Matters plays on repeat:

Guitar intro {sing the words in melody to Nothing Else Matters, please}

So close, no matter how far

couldn’t be bothered when you start

forever trusting who you are

And, your name is Lisa…

Metallica owns all rights to their music and any reference to it, directly and indirectly.

Speaking of Dating

I’m dating. Trying. To. Date.

I don’t even know how to fucking text message. How do people do this – and by this I mean wait for a response. I mean no one has prepped me. How does one prepare for this? Is there a number I can call for between-text-message anxiety?

AND FOR FUCKS SAKE How many hours can go by for this to still be considered a conversation?

But whatever, I started dating, via App.

Just one: Bumble. Do you know what this should be renamed?

Close encounters of the neurotic man.

Where the hell do these people come from? How do they live day to day? I just wanna give a shout out to two special groups.

  1. The Stand-Out-Steve, balancing ham on his face in his profile photo. I have seen more than one man, if we can call him that, with food on his face – on purpose. Awesome.

  2. Then, the way-too-many to count: Steve(s)-In-A-Sombrero. You wanted me to see that photo, really? Why?

Look I love Mexican food just as much as the next person, and I understand when it beckons you’re not always in a neighborhood you know, or maybe someone else chose the place, and let’s say by some stroke of bad luck, timing in life, and string of strange events that surround your birthday, you get shitty. You don’t even recall getting that shitty –  They maaaaade you. I know someone else put it on you. But if ALL these things happen and someone takes a picture. Your only next move is to kill that picture. You do not put it on your dating profile. 

No, I’m not a fucking racist, Steve. This has nothing to do with Mexicans.

Recently, I got an email from Bumble about Race and Equality —

You know what I say to that. I can date whomever the fuck I want without it offending you. I don’t ever want to think about a swipe to the left with a question like, “Was that fair?” “Was that racist of me?”


Y’all love that expression too, “Fair Enough.” Do you even know what you’re saying? Teachable Moment:

Fair as in just. Like justice. Just enough for what? For whom? From whose vantage point are we seeking or facing justice? It’s ok, I know you can’t answer any of these. 

So, maybe your version of “Fair Enough” means to use fair as an adjective where it suggests something is good. So, then good enough?…. Good Enough what? LIKE WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?

Someone says something to you and your response is, GOOD ENOUGH. FUCK YOU!


Fucking zombies. Ya know who doesn’t get laid, zombies, that’s who.

For my dear friend who was wondering (for another friend) what the pathway was back to virginity. I hope this helps.