by Julia Merola
tw sexual harassment
As a young woman in the workplace, I often feel belittled. Since I’m young, I’m treated like I know nothing and bring nothing to the table.
When I was 17, I started working at a local bakery. I was excited; I always wanted to work at a small, local business instead of a large corporation.
Only a few months into my time there, I learned my boss only hired girls he found attractive–girls who weren’t too tall, too thick, too skinny, and definitely not girls with acne.
I felt uncomfortable as soon as I found out. I was nervous that if I suddenly had an acne breakout I’d be fired on the spot. I talked to girls who I previously worked with, and they expressed the same frustrations. They agreed with me, that it was completely unreasonable to have these kinds of fears. Not because they were unfounded, but because we shouldn’t have had to deal with something like that in the first place.
It wasn’t long after that I started to observe how my coworkers and I were being treated by customers, too. Men would give exorbitant tips and, in exchange, ask my coworkers out on dates and expect a yes. They’d make inappropriate comments or hover on top of us while we were trying to serve them.
I had never been treated this way before, and I was disgusted.
Up until that moment, I thought sexual harassment in the workplace was a thing of the past. None of my friends had ever talked about it before, so I assumed everyone was finally respected by one another.
I couldn’t understand why these men felt it was appropriate to treat us this way. Some of the girls I worked with were only 15. None of us deserved to be treated this way, but it was especially disturbing to see the younger girls be harassed.
I didn’t feel comfortable telling my boss about what I heard customers say or what I saw them do to other coworkers. When I did speak to my boss, I usually felt stupid. It was bad enough asking my boss a question about prices—which he often changed without mentioning—and I didn’t want to be ridiculed for suggesting that customers were being inappropriate.
Then, when I was 19, I started my third job as a beach badge checker in New Jersey. I was praying things would be different because this had been my dream job since I was young, and I didn’t want anything to mess it up.
I worked predominantly with older, white men. At first I was fearful because this was the same demographic as the men who would terrorize my coworkers and me at my previous job.
While I was pleasantly surprised that they weren’t harassing me every minute of the day, it was clear that I was still treated differently because I was young and because I was a woman.
When I was hit on by the men, my male co-workers said nothing. Despite knowing it was wrong, they stayed silent. They did not ask if I was okay or if I needed anything; we just sat in awkward silence.
It was incredibly frustrating to have so many of my coworkers just sit back, witness this behavior, and say absolutely nothing even when it was clear I was uncomfortable. My posture would be rigid and my hands would shake, but there was still silence.
It was something I dealt with for the whole summer. I stayed silent when customers were inappropriate toward me, just like I did when I was 17. The only difference was at my old job, I had the other girls to talk to who had experienced the same things as me. This time I was completely alone, for the whole summer.
When I turned 20, I got my first real-world job back home at a local newspaper. I thought this would finally be the change I had been so desperately looking for. I hoped that I’d finally be seen as a person, rather than just a young girl.
But only a month in, I was exhausted. I was overworked and underpaid. I could feel my boss growing frustrated with me when I stumbled, and I was terrified to let them down. I tried to convince myself that this job was better for me. I wasn’t being sexually harassed almost every single day anymore. But I felt as though I was being treated like a child. I even felt like maybe there was something wrong with my appearance.
Maybe I looked too weak to handle this type of job. Maybe I was presenting myself in a meek way, or maybe I needed to change my tone when I spoke and hold my head higher. Maybe I just needed to grow thicker skin.
It was then that I realized I was compromising my identity for a company that did not deserve me or my talent. I knew I had things to bring to the table, and the inflection of my voice did not change that.
I couldn’t accept the way I was being treated anymore. The way I was treated when I was 17 was not okay, and the need to change myself for a job that made me miserable wasn’t okay either.
When I raised the issue with my boss, they looked at me as though I was crazy and chuckled a bit.
I walked out of their office with my head held high and never looked back.