Home / General / <s>Sasquatch</s> Sexual Harassment Is Real, Part II

Sasquatch Sexual Harassment Is Real, Part II

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My first post responding to Hanna Rosin’s assertion that Joan Holloway’s sexual harassers were cartoon villains was already running long, but I there are a couple more examples that I think are instructive. First, Irin Carmon passes on this from Lilly Ledbetter’s autobiography:

It didn’t take too long, either, for me to understand that I could never let my guard down. Whenever we were in the office together, one of my shift foremen— a tall, blue-eyed man named Donald— would grin and make the most inappropriate comments, without warning. Donald always dressed neatly and had a good-natured manner of speaking, so it sometimes took me a minute to register what he’d said. We’d be talking about work, and out of the blue he’d interject, “That must be one of them French bras you’re wearing, because it’s got those things up high and your nipples are showing.” Or he’d catch me retrieving a file from the file cabinet, and he’d observe, “If you kept bending over at the file cabinet, you might get something rammed in your ass that you don’t want. I know I could take care of that.” As his words sank in, I kept my head averted, shame spreading its red flush across my face, shock and embarrassment flooding my body.

After a few of these awkward moments, I learned to steel myself for his comments. When Donald inspected my department, despite the fact that it was spotless and in order, he’d say things like, “Goddammit, Lilly, this looks like a whorehouse.” I wouldn’t flinch. “Really?” I’d reply. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a whorehouse.”

[…]

The next thing I knew, he started talking about how well he’d done at Goodyear, and explained in detail his wife’s personal connections with the top dogs at corporate headquarters in Akron. After he finally quit talking about himself, I thought we were about to get down to the business of my performance and future. Instead, he said, “Well, I rank you an eleven out of twelve. If you want a better score, you can meet me at the Ramada Inn.” I stared at him blankly for a moment. Surely, he was just joking. I was used to crude remarks, but Jeff stared right back at me, expecting an answer— just as if he’d asked me another question about the machinery. I glanced at the clock. We’d been in his office for over an hour. I replied, “I’m not sure I understand.” He exhaled cigarette smoke in my direction before he repeated himself. My temples throbbed. I felt a jolt of anger. I told myself to breathe and think, and not to do anything I’d regret.
I asked, “How can you do that based on my performance?”
“In a place like this, Lilly, it’s more important that your bosses like you than that you do a good job.” A wisp of smoke trailed out of one of his nostrils. I calculated Vickie’s college tuition. Phillip would be in college before I knew it. I still had a few years ahead of me before Vickie and Phillip were independent. Then there were the household bills and expenses that Charles’s paycheck didn’t cover. I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make the situation worse, so I stood up and walked toward the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeff smash his cigarette with a rough jab into the overflowing aluminum ashtray on his desk. That night I couldn’t sleep. The following day I tried to ask Jeff about my evaluation. When I approached him, he said, “Nothing you say matters. You’re at the bottom, where you’ll stay.” I pressed him to tell me why, but he only replied, “That’s where I want you. You’ve made the wrong people mad these past few months and caused me a lot of trouble.” Several days later I tried to talk to another manager about the problem. He replied in an unconcerned tone, “What are you so worried about? If there’s a layoff, you’ll go anyway, so don’t worry about it. You’re okay.” It wasn’t much longer after this that Goodyear said it was cutting back on supervisors and demoted me, moving me from final finish to special tire trials in July 1981.

Or, perhaps, we should cite the fact that 2 managers at the CBC were recently fired over their handling of serial sexual abuser and harasser Jian Ghomeshi. If one of the most prominent public figures in Canada can get away with far more egregious behavior for years, I’m supposed to believe that a boss at an advertising agencies notorious for its sexism even among other advertising agencies wouldn’t ask for sexual favors? Please.

Finally, it’s worth noting that Joan getting 50 cents on the dollar was, alas, an excellent deal — in 1970, her lawsuit would have had no chance.

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