BY MIA FREEDMAN
The first time I was sexually harassed at work, I didn’t know what it was. Same with the second and third and fourth times.
It happened when I was working as a waitress in a restaurant after I’d left school. The owner was a loud, charismatic European guy in his 50s with a big family and there were two waitresses, me and another girl.
It began as comments about my appearance – often in his own language which he would helpfully translate. “Beautiful wet girl” he would growl at me sexually as I walked past him throughout the night between the restaurant floor and the kitchen.
It was annoying and off-putting and it made me intensely uncomfortable. Later, it would make me quite scared. But I had no name for it. “He’s a bit of a sleaze” I said to the other waitress one night when we were out of earshot. She nodded and rolled her eyes. She’d been there longer than me but she was on a working visa so she knew her position was more tenuous.
I decided the best approach was to ignore his comments which were growing more full-on with each shift I worked.
He then started brushing up against me in the kitchen – away from the eyes of customers who all thought he was a large and lively legend- after I’d cleared tables. My arms were full so I couldn’t push him away. It happened a couple of times, at which point I quit. I had begun to dread going to work and was starting to feel unsafe.