A Letter to Survivors: You Deserved So Much Better
By: Alexa Nargi
Tags: Male Violence, Feminism, Metoo, Sexual Assault, Abuse

My relationship with this colleague was inappropriate from day one, but I thought we were just friendly. He explained to me why he took this new job, which led to him confiding in me about struggles at work, which snowballed into him sharing far too many details of his personal life. Thinking that this person was my friend — after all, he got me this job — I was always there to listen. I should have noticed right away that he didn’t feel the same need to be there for me. Our conversations weren’t those of two people venting about their frustrations, they were comprised of one person complaining, oversharing and threatening others, to a captive audience. Did I mention this guy was also my boss? So, yea, I couldn’t have been more of a captive audience.

Things slowly escalated and he eventually asked me to meet him at the beach on my day off.

I declined and said, “Do you often invite your employees to spend the day with you outside of work?”

I was hoping he would see how inappropriate of a situation he was putting me in.

He got defensive and fired back that I had totally misinterpreted his texts. He was my boss, an authority figure, and much older than me. Not to mention, he was married.

Of course he didn’t mean it that way, I convinced myself. I felt a tiny bit of relief the next couple days without constant texts from him while I tried to pay attention in classes. Maybe he had learned to leave me alone, I thought.

When I returned to work, he invited me into his office and shut the door behind me.

“Oh god, is he firing me now?” I thought, turning red as I sat across the desk from him.

“I want you to know that I don’t think of you as just an employee, as you said in your text,” he half whispered.

I squirmed in my chair and nervously giggled, the way a very timid and uncomfortable 20-year-old does. Truth be told, I don’t remember how that awful interaction ended, and that’s probably for the best.

“I can’t just not go, right? I mean, he’s my boss.”

The next part of this terrible saga was a few hours into one of the country club’s biggest events of the year. I had worked tirelessly on decorations, seating charts, wine specials and more and I was thrilled that the night was coming together exactly as we’d hoped. The general manager even thanked me for my work, which I never thought he noticed. (It might be worth noting here that the GM always called me “kiddo.” Probably half because he couldn’t remember my name to save his life, but I think it also nods to the fact that I didn’t look any older than my age at this time. If anything, I looked much younger.)

I was standing in the back of the ballroom watching the party-goers celebrate when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket.

“Meet me in the loading dock in 10,” it read. I swallowed hard and looked up fast to see if anyone else may have read that text over my shoulder. I can’t just not go, right? I mean, he’s my boss.

Ten minutes later I walked out to the dimly lit loading dock. The smell of the nearby dumpster combined with my nerves swirling around my stomach made me want to vomit. My hands were shaking incessantly. I obviously knew this couldn’t be good, but I didn’t think I could leave.

His car pulled up and he waved for me to join him. For some reason, I remember trying to hide the fact that I was trembling like a leaf as I walked over and opened the passenger door.

“Buckle up,” he said, grinning. “We’re going to celebrate!”

Soon, I found myself alone at an empty beach, late at night with a man I didn’t want to be near, without a ride home. To top it all off, he’d also stolen a “celebratory” six-pack of Coors Light from our mutual employer and said there was no need to worry about my being off-the-clock, because he would add hours to my time card for me.