“That’s what you think, kitten.” Allen snickered and sat back in his chair. I blinked and looked at my other co-worker, Lauren, seated next to him. She frowned. Around us, our co-workers laughed and enjoyed their catered lunch. Moments before, Lauren and I were discussing what we thought it would have been like to work in an office like ours in previous decades. Allen had a few things to say about an office environment in the disco era, mostly to Lauren, who was in her twenties.
I understood “kitten” was a pet name from the disco era, but I looked at Lauren’s expression and wondered if she knew Allen wasn’t actually calling her that, now. I hoped for Allen’s sake that Lauren frowned for the same reason I did – Allen’s vague nostalgia for the way things were – and not from personal offense.
I made mental notes: in a conversation with a co-worker, don’t idealize a decade rife with overt oppression, and don’t call a co-worker a pet name even if you’re just kidding. I studied Lauren’s expression and body language and wondered what, if anything, she would do about her uncertainty concerning Allen’s comment. What options did our company’s policies give her? What would the process of an investigation be like, given that a third-party company served as our HR department? Did our company have a policy on what an employee should do when faced with an off-the-cuff, but inappropriate, comment from a co-worker?
I am fortunate. In all my working years, I did not experience extreme harassment like many other women. I was asked out on a date and sent suggestive emails. I was told it was okay if I made a mistake, because I was cute. I was subjected to inappropriate discussions, one I could not believe was happening as we sat at a conference table, and not in a bar. I did report an instance once but, in truth, I don’t know if what I experienced, 16 years ago, was sexual harassment. I wonder how, or if, the response to my report would differ today.
Pete and I, loss-prevention specialists for an upscale clothing retailer, sat in the camera room. We faced away from the TVs and their images of our store’s interior. I sat in an office chair and read something in a binder I’d laid on the counter, and Pete sat in another office chair next to mine. Pete set the office phone down in its cradle and turned to me with a grin. He asked me if I would do the voicemail message for his side-business because, he said, he wanted “people to hear what kind of women I have working for me.” To be clear, I did not work for Pete or his side-business.
To this day, I do not know what Pete meant by this comment. At the time, it didn’t sit well. I said no and left the room. My other co-workers were right, I thought, Pete was weird. Not only was there something off about the way he communicated, Pete was conflict-averse in a conflict-driven industry. He was not interested in chasing a thief down — an activity my other co-workers and I considered part of the job. Pete relied instead on his sense of superior intellect, or so I’d heard.
Pete had never said anything odd to me before, which made the incident stick in my mind. I asked my best friend, who worked as a sales manager for the same company, what she thought. “You have to tell someone,” she said. She thought about it, and then sounded less sure. “They may not do anything, but you should say something.” I waited, and she continued. “There’s this other manager who, in our morning meetings, keeps touching my leg under the table. I thought I could sit somewhere else or move over to put some space between us… but it still happens.”
I asked my supervisor, Ivan, what he thought Pete meant by the comment. Ivan’s face fell, and he said that though it wasn’t my intention for him to report it, he had to. If he didn’t report it, he could get fired. Ivan told me to be careful, because Pete was really smart. A few weeks later, after not seeing or talking to Pete much at work, and suspecting Ivan had tweaked our schedules, Doreen, the company’s regional director, invited me into her office.
Doreen and I had not spoken at length before, and I was nervous. She was highly professional and wore heels in a way that lifted her above the day-to-day fray. She rarely worked from the office in our store.
Doreen asked me if I remembered an instance when Pete and I were in the camera room and were sitting close together and laughing. I said I didn’t remember the instance, but maybe we were laughing because I didn’t like it when anyone sat too close and bumped my chair. The camera room was a cramped space.
I got the feeling her question stemmed from someone who interpreted the interaction as flirting. The door to the camera room opened onto the table where the store’s employees often took their breaks. I knew one or two employees who had a crush on Pete, and if they were interviewed, they would defend him. Or, for all I knew, the impression could have come from another agent on our team.
Every so often in our talk, Doreen paused and said, “you go girl,” and winked. Did her wink mean she believed me, but couldn’t say so? Had the investigation already concluded, and our talk was a formality? Pete made the comment to me when we were alone. I had no one to corroborate my story. Pete would not be removed, it turned out. Nothing would happen except for the placement of the report in my employee file.
I want to be clear here. I was confused and annoyed by what Pete said, but I was not afraid of, or mad at, Pete. The process is what upset me. I was in the dark during the entire investigation. I didn’t know who would investigate, how long the investigation would take, or who would be interviewed. I needed to hear from Pete, and the investigator, what was meant by the comment, that it was inappropriate, and that Pete regretted it. I don’t think Pete should’ve been fired for my sake – I just think the process should have been more transparent from my perspective.
What I learned from this disappointing process all those years ago was, firstly, you better not speak up unless you have a witness. Don’t expect to get closure. Expect to feel embarrassed, as you look at your co-workers and wonder who was interviewed and what they said. Finally, expect to worry that you were wrong for feeling offended by a weird comment, and if you were foolish for saying something about it.
Thankfully, I now recognize this is not how I should have been made to feel. That’s the change I hope the #MeToo movement will foster in addition to its goals – that when someone says or does something inappropriate at work, and someone else finds the courage to say that’s not right, is it? the details of the investigation won’t be kept secret from the one sticking her or his neck out.
I was born at the end of the disco era. Any earlier, and I wouldn’t have as much time at work to benefit from the awareness circulating now, thanks to the incredible women of this era. We still have a long way to go, of course, and new challenges to face. Today, our employers may be more likely to investigate a claim of sexual harassment, but how adept are their procedures? How will the rise of corporate “AI” services affect the role of an HR Manager? I worry we are more focused today on if we investigate, and on finding the appropriate punishment, than we are focused on knowing the intent behind the inappropriate behavior and ensuring the investigation process promotes resolution for the parties involved, if possible. From my experience, the “why”, and how we discover it, is as important as the “what”, and what we do about it.