When I was in my early twenties and a contract employee at The Globe, I went to a staff Christmas party hosted by my boss. I was standing in the crowded kitchen, chatting with a bunch of jolly, drink-flushed senior journalists, when I felt a hand slip up the back of my skirt and fondle my bottom. I moved away but the hand followed. At first I assumed it was my boyfriend, but then I realized it wasn’t and the blood drained from head. I turned around to face a colleague. He was swaying, obviously drunk, but managed to meet my eye. His face was utterly blank. Back in the office on Monday, it was as if nothing had happened. We never spoke of it.
For years, as most women do, I’ve racked my brain to figure out why I failed to react in that moment. Why didn’t I shout or hiss or just wind up and smack him? Why did I stand there like a frozen idiot, listening to the senior journalists joking while my colleague, unbeknownst to everyone but the two of us, brought new meaning to the word “handling editor”?
more
Women shouldn’t have to wait years for sexual offenders to apologize - The Globe and Mail
of course she doesn't say who it was either so 2 steps forward and yadda yadda.
For years, as most women do, I’ve racked my brain to figure out why I failed to react in that moment. Why didn’t I shout or hiss or just wind up and smack him? Why did I stand there like a frozen idiot, listening to the senior journalists joking while my colleague, unbeknownst to everyone but the two of us, brought new meaning to the word “handling editor”?
more
Women shouldn’t have to wait years for sexual offenders to apologize - The Globe and Mail
of course she doesn't say who it was either so 2 steps forward and yadda yadda.