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No Means No, Guys… And Gals

Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of conversations about how men treat women and two stories keep coming to mind. While neither of these incidents felt like harassment and I didn’t feel unsafe, both made me feel like these men felt completely entitled to my time and attention.

I was nineteen and working in a twenty hour convenience store in my small hometown while on my summer break from university.

One afternoon, a regular came in to pay for a tank of gas. He was my dad’s age. He was crying and I asked if I could help. A friend of his had died. I offered condolences and told him that his coffee was on us.

He came in a few nights later when I was working the graveyard shift. I was making deli sandwiches for the next day and he asked if he could buy one and hang out for a bit. Umm, sure. Ok. I kept working and he kept eating. He ate three foot long subs and stayed and talked for a couple of hours. I figured he needed someone to listen so I worked and listened.

He came back a couple of nights later and did the same thing. He paid for the sandwiches he ate and listening to him didn’t slow me down at all.  Then he came back a third time. Hmmmm. I began to mention my boyfriend. A lot.  This guy came back a few more times and I started to say things like “yeah my dad likes that music/tv show too” just to subtly remind him that he was a lot older than me.

After a couple weeks of this, he asked if he could take me out for dinner. I said no, that I wasn’t comfortable with that. He argued that it would just be as friends and I repeated that I didn’t want to.
His parting words?   “Yeah well I hope your boyfriend is the kind of man who gives you at least two orgasms before he’s done.” He shouted that across the store and in front of other customers. Then he called the store to give me one last chance to reconsider.

The second story took place a few years later. I was working in a cell phone store and we had to run credit checks for anyone who wanted to sign a contract.  A man came in and his first words to me were “I just went bankrupt from an ugly divorce, how much will my deposit be for a new plan?”  I offered to check and, when he presented his driver’s license, I mentioned that he was born in the same year as my dad.

His bankruptcy hadn’t posted with the credit bureaus yet and he didn’t need to pay a security deposit. So, we selected a plan and a phone for him.  As I began setting up his account, he told me about his divorce. Then he asked to take me out for coffee. I replied that I didn’t date customers. He turned to my co worker and asked if he could set up the account instead so that the two of us could have coffee.
I said that I still wasn’t interested and kept working on his account.

He proceeded to tell me why dating him would be a great idea and I politely and firmly kept declining. (My co worker was with another customer and I just wanted this guy processed quickly and gone. Our manager would have been furious if I’d have turned away a sale.) I finished his account quickly and handed him his phone.

He helped himself to one of my business cards (we all had ours in a stand in the counter) and asked when I worked next. I wished him a nice day and turned away to help the next customer. He responded by promising to call our store every day until I said yes.

As he was leaving the store, he called out that he’d call the next day and that saying yes to him would be “the best thing you’d ever do in your life”.

He did call. And I politely explained that any further calls would result in a call back . . . from our corporate security department.

I’m in my late thirties now and this doesn’t happen nearly as often to me now as it used to. But I see some of my younger friends having to deal with this and it’s frustrating. No means no, guys. 0129-18

The OP of the above story is clearly communicating “No” to these men early in the conversation and consistently.   There is no ambiguity as to what she is saying and it is incumbent upon the men to honor that clearly stated message.

Contrast this to another story that hit the news media about the same time this story above was submitted. It was regarding the alleged sexual harassment of a young woman named “Grace” by actor Aziz Ansari.

In a 3,000 word report published on a feminist blog, “Grace” recounts, in detail, her date with the Emmy award winning actor which she describes as “the worst night of my life”.   Grace and Ansari meet at a 2017 Emmys after party, exchange phone numbers, he calls her to arrange a dinner date which they have.  After dinner they retire back to his apartment where things get frisky enough that they are now both naked and he obviously wants to move forward into penetrative intercourse.   It is only when he suggests sex in front of a mirror that Grace FINALLY uses the word “No”.   Ansari promptly backs off, suggests they get their clothes back on and they watch an episode of Seinfield after which he calls a taxi for her.   The next day he sends her a complimentary text to which she replies that last night may have been fun for him but it was a disaster for her. Ansari apologizes.

Bari Weiss of the New York Times wrote a fiery response to the article in a piece titled “Aziz Ansari Is Guilty. Of Not Being a Mind Reader.”  (The link to the original story is embedded in this article, btw.)  Excerpts below…

If you are wondering what about this evening constituted the “worst night” of this woman’s life, or why it is being framed as a #MeToo story by a feminist website, you probably feel as confused as Mr. Ansari did the next day. “It was fun meeting you last night,” he texted.

“Last night might’ve been fun for you, but it wasn’t for me,” she responded. “You ignored clear nonverbal cues; you kept going with advances. You had to have noticed I was uncomfortable.” He replied with an apology.

Read her text message again.

Put in other words: I am angry that you weren’t able to read my mind.

It is worth carefully studying this story. Encoded in it are new yet deeply retrograde ideas about what constitutes consent — and what constitutes sexual violence.

We are told by the reporter that the woman “says she used verbal and nonverbal cues to indicate how uncomfortable and distressed she was.”

Weiss concludes her article citing examples of clear communication regarding consent that would have had no occasion to be misunderstood:

I am a proud feminist, and this is what I thought while reading the article:

If you are hanging out naked with a man, it’s safe to assume he is going to try to have sex with you.

If the failure to choose a pinot noir over a pinot grigio offends you, you can leave right then and there.

If you don’t like the way your date hustles through paying the check, you can say, “I’ve had a lovely evening and I’m going home now.”

If you go home with him and discover he’s a terrible kisser, say, “I’m out.”

If you start to hook up and don’t like the way he smells or the way he talks (or doesn’t talk), end it.

If he pressures you to do something you don’t want to do, use a four-letter word, stand up on your two legs and walk out his door.

The solution to these problems does not begin with women torching men for failing to understand their “nonverbal cues.” It is for women to be more verbal. It’s to say, “This is what turns me on.” It’s to say, “I don’t want to do that.” And, yes, sometimes it means saying goodbye.

Panhandling And The Polite Spine

I’d like to get an etiquette opinion on something I witnessed a couple of weeks ago. Although I was not directly affected by the events in this story, it has popped into my mind on several occasions since.

Some friends and I were eating in an outdoor portion of a local pub. The restaurant is in a busy area of town on a pedestrian only street. There was a couple sitting near us, huddled with heads together, very obviously in the middle of a serious conversation. As they were speaking, a homeless man approached them from the street, and started a practiced speech about not being an addict of any kind, but needing money. The man at the table lifted his head, visibly irritated, and said “I’m sorry, we’re having our dinner and trying to talk.” and turned back to his companion, who looked unsure of what she should do. The homeless man eyed the couple’s empty dishes and said “looks like you’re finished to me.” And stood staring at them. The man sitting at the table just said “Dude…” in a voice that very clearly meant he wasn’t in a giving mood. After a moment or two, the homeless man moved on and gave his speech to the next table, as we made our way out to the street.

This interaction sparked a discussion in our group. One of my friends said the guy should have just given him some money. He is a human being after all, and it would have avoided a scene. Another thought the guy handled it just fine. I am on the fence. Part of me felt bad for the homeless man, but another part bristled at his reaction to being told “no”. Although the kind thing to do is to help those less fortunate, the couple owed him nothing, and he was interrupting an obviously intimate moment.

Panhandling has increased quite a bit in our town over the past few years, and will pick up again in the coming warm months. How exactly does one handle this type of situation gracefully? 0607-18

Is it a kindness to help those less fortunate, specifically the homeless, by directly giving them money? Usually it is not because the reasons for homelessness are often far more complex than a simple lack of money. Handing a homeless person cash may be a profound unkindness. You are not in a position to assess within the few seconds of interaction whether money will help or hurt this person. Is the person a professional panhandler?   In cities there are increasing numbers of “rescue missions” who offer the homeless a place to sleep, shower, fresh clothes, food, literacy lessons, job skills, help with addictions, money management lessons, and on and on. They address those complex issues in a far more comprehensive way, looking to see what would actually serve the homeless person to become not homeless. Financially support those homeless missions because most of them have excellent track records of lifting people out of homelessness into productivity.

But if a homeless person asks for food, by all means be generous. Pay for a meal to the restaurant, buy fast food and hand it to them. Pack an extra sandwich and apple in your lunch if you know the likelihood of encountering a hungry homelessness person on your way to work will be high. Some people have a unique solution to the panhandling by making and distributing “blessing bags”.

I see nothing wrong in how the man dealt with the situation with the panhandler.

Counting The Spaces In Line

I had an interesting etiquette conundrum on a recent trip away, and although the problem was solved, it did make me wonder about the etiquette of waiting in line when it comes to saving spots for people to cut ahead.

In April, I visited San Francisco for 3 days, and hoped to visit Alcatraz, but was unaware that it was so popular you needed to book days, if not weeks, in advance. However, my hostel told me that every morning they sell 50-100 tickets for the first ferry leaving on the day, so if I was willing to get up early, I could still possibly get a ticket. The office opens at 7:30, but people have been known to wait as early as 5 to get in.

Since it wasn’t a weekend, I decided not to be there quite that early, and made it to the ticket office for 6:15, where there were maybe 8 people ahead of me. I was told I could only buy one ticket, and to make sure I had photo ID so I could prove I was buying it for myself.

The issue I had however, was within the next 45 minutes, the 8 people ahead of me (and those lining up behind) started calling people, or just greeting new arrivals, who would go to the very front of the queue to wait with their party. I don’t begrudge someone holding a spot for one person, but a party of 2 at the very front of the queue ended up swelling to a party of 9 as friends arrived throughout the waiting time! By 7am, there were over 25 people ahead of me. I was still pretty sure I could get a ticket given how many I was told could be sold, but the queue had been lining up behind me as well, and I can’t imagine someone who arrived at 6:30, who counted the people ahead and thought themself safe, was too happy to see themselves go from 25th in the queue to 50th. The employee at the back of the queue warning people about buying one ticket and having ID, never said anything, and neither did anyone in the queue.

Thankfully, the problem resolved itself, when at 7 am the employees started handing out tokens that we needed to exchange for tickets, guaranteeing everyone in line a place, but I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if the ticket limit had run out for those who had counted the line, thought themselves safe, only to have someone who showed up at 6:55 rather than 6:30 get in because they jumped the queue?

Is there a limit on how many spots you are allowed to save in a waiting line? Especially if what you’re waiting for is limited in number? And do you have an obligation to tell people how many people will be arriving so they have a more reasonable idea of how far down the line you really are? 0531-18

Do You Speak English?

Reading through your ‘Travel” section of the archives reminded me of how my own dear family decided to act on a European vacation we went on!

The vacation was to be a week-long cruise starting in Barcelona and going to parts of Italy and France with my mother’s family – Gramma, Aunt Carol, Aunt Lisa, and her son Bob who was two years older than I, as well as my younger brother, mom, and dad. Since my mother and father met during an exchange program in Austria, Dad decided that we four would spend an extra week in southern Germany and Austria before heading to Barcelona. I had been taking German classes for four years at this point, my brother had just started a German class, and my dad majored in German, so I was quite excited for that portion.

To prepare, I did some research on how Americans should conduct themselves overseas to avoid being “rude Americans” or standing out as targets for pickpockets or thieves. Suggestions I found included learning some basic phrases and names of food you like, and dressing a little fancier – no athletic gear worn as normal clothes, no white socks with shorts and sneakers, no backpacks or fanny packs, no cameras worn on the neck, no baseball caps, dark wash jeans, and no chewing gum or being loud. Since Dad was being very paranoid about having money or phones stolen, I relayed the suggestions to him and printed out some basic food phrases in the various language, as well as phrases like “Don’t touch me,” and “No thank you” in case we were approached by shady characters (we were taking public transportation at times and Dad was rife with horror stories about them).

The German part of our trip went off relatively without a hitch. Dad, thrilled to be back in one of his favorite places, struck up conversations in German with every waiter and taxi driver we came across just to prove he could. I made sure to order everything in German, ask questions in the shops in German, and speak in English only when spoken to first. The only problem was Dad’s attire – everything on the “don’t” list, plus a bright blue hiking backpack with neon orange clips that he clipped over his shirts and wore everywhere. Overall, though, we had a great time in Germany and Austria and even met up with Dad’s old host family for an impromptu snack when we were in the neighborhood!

We eventually arrived in Barcelona and met up with the aunts, Bob, and Gramma outside of our hotel. We were in an older, more historical section, and Gramma wanted to go see a certain cathedral. Upon entering the hotel, the first words out of Aunt Carol’s mouth were, “DOES ANYONE HERE SPEAK ENGLISH?!” She repeated her question to the lady at the front desk, who answered, “Nope, Spanish,” with more than a hint of sarcasm. After the initial embarrassment, we asked the lady if there were any good tourist attractions that were okay for walking-challenged Gramma, and we mentioned the cathedral. “No, no!” she cried. “That will be so boring for your children. So old! You should see the MAGIC FOUNTAIN!” She helpfully gave us directions. Naturally, as we walked there, we had to stop every ten feet and make Carol, Lisa and Gramma were still behind us and not just randomly standing in the middle of the walkway taking pictures of the buildings, the people, the pigeons, the signs, the ground, the trash cans, the homeless man peeing in the street…

When we arrived at the fountain, I decided the concierge lady had pulled a little prank on the rude Americans. The fountain was there, and it was a very nice large fountain lit by many colors, but surrounding it was the Barcelona Gay Pride Festival. There were open-air urinals, rainbow everything, many people being affectionate, plenty of alcohol, and an enormous stage with an elaborate drag show being put on. My conservative Gramma was speechless, only uttering “Well…look at the very pretty men…” I was about to die trying to suppress my laughter as my relatives all stared blankly forward or at the ground and marched towards the fountain!

The rest of our trip had a similar theme of “DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?!” Taxi drivers in Barcelona had long conversations with each other outside the taxi with the meter running, since we had no way of communicating with them in Spanish. English menus were demanded in Italy and France, often with the waiters’ faces drooping into a glower. Photo opportunities were apparently everywhere, even in the middle of crowded squares! We weren’t as bad as some of the stories on this blog, but I was still more than a little embarrassed that my family wasn’t even trying to fit in or do their best to interpret the menus. Luckily, nothing was stolen from us.

My Dad has invited me to come on another European cruise with my immediate family over the summer, this time with a week in Germany preceding a cruise around Sweden, Russia, and more northern countries. Unless he learns to speak a lot of Swedish and Russian before then, I think I will pass! 0910-15

ATM Etiquette

I’ve never seen this particular issue of etiquette pop up on your site and I’m curious about your thoughts.

The other day, I parked my car outside my bank to visit the walk up ATM on my way to work in the morning. I got in line right after another lady began her transaction. It turns out that she had several transactions and several cards that she was working with that day – she wound up in front of that ATM for 7 or 8 minutes.

Another patron in line behind me walked around to her and asked how much longer she was going to be as she had already been at the ATM for quite some time. She snottily turned around and said that it “hasn’t been 7 or 8 minutes and (he) needs to work on his patience”.

So, my question is: should there be a limit as to how many transactions are managed at the ATM? If you have many, should this lady have waited until the bank lobby was open and gone inside? I understand the purpose of the ATM is convenience for times when the bank is closed but, what gave her the right to make 3 other people wait while she conducted her business(es)?   0925-17

There are times I’ve stewed behind someone wondering why on earth they are moving like molasses to finish their business. It’s as if they are completely unaware that someone else needs to use that cashier or ATM or any other self service machinery.

The bottom line here is that banks do not limit the number of transaction a person may do at an ATM and so it is possible and probable that there will be people who conduct all their banking transactions in one stop using multiple cards. It’s as if you got in line behind 3 other people instead of 1.  The bank doesn’t see a problem with this at all.   There is no guaranteed right of customers to always have a fast, smooth transaction when that right is dependent upon the number of customers all wanting the same exact thing at the same time.

So, don’t sweat what is the “small stuff”.  Getting irked only ruins your day and doesn’t make the other person any faster.