Content warning: Sexual harassment
I thought the hardest part of being a delivery driver would be finding the houses.
I didn’t have a smartphone, but I grew up in this town. I knew its roads and neighborhoods well but the streets can still be confusing.
Eventually my boss bought me a Garmin so driving was as easy as punching in a house number and finding the right song on the radio to get me there.
That is, until I pulled up to that baby blue double wide in Evans.
It’s funny what we choose to remember from traumatic events.
I don’t remember what he looked like, besides the fact that he was probably my dad’s age.
But I remember the baby blue siding and the blinding white railing on the gray steps,
surrounded by unrealistically green grass in this desert climate.
I knocked on the door, something I had done so many times before.
Stood there bored waiting for an answer.
A younger guy opened the door and I said who the delivery was for.
An older man sat on the couch, 10 feet from me.
“Well you are way too cute to be a delivery driver.”
My stomach dropped and the words got caught in my throat
“O tha.., yeah is so and so here, I have his food”
One of the 4 men in the living room called their fifth roommates’ name.
Where was this guy?
“Do you know how much money I make? I work in oil and pull in 6 figures a year. You should let me take you out tonight”
He gets paid to violate the earth so maybe he believes he is entitled to violate me.
I watched almost out of body as this small 21 year old woman covered in grease stains, hair messed up in knots sticking out of the back of her hat, (you know a real sexy outfit, just asking to be hit on) struggle to know what to say.
He sat there, watching her squirm under his words.
“Say something! Tell him to fuck off! Tell him he’s old enough to be your dad and you would never be caught dead with him!”
But she just stood there on the stoop holding a bag of soggy sandwiches.
The smell of meat and cheese wafting up making her nauseous.
Finally a man emerged from a side room and I floated back into my body.
The only black man in a house full of white oil men. He gave me a knowing look but didn’t say a word.
Maybe he is as afraid of them as I am.
I began to walk away but he had more to say
“Have a nice day beautiful”.
The words slithered out of his mouth, slimy syllables twisted around my ankles wrapping their way up my leg.
I wanted to scream and run but he would probably love that, so I waved goodbye, thanked the other gentlemen for his tip and walked quickly to my car.
Politeness can be a lifesaver sometimes.
I noticed on the seat, the drink carrier.
I slammed the door anyway, drove off and threw the drinks in the nearest garbage can.
Back at the restaurant I told my coworkers and boss what had happened.
They were appalled, they were on my side!
My boss made a note that no female delivery drivers were to go to that house.
I don’t know if he sensed my disappointment that they could still order from us, but I thanked him anyway for his bare minimum allyship.
Two days later when I came into work my boss told me that the same house had called, upset that their delivery driver wasn’t the “cute blonde one”.
I laughed it off because, what else was I supposed to do?
I moved on from that moment, I knew I would never have to see them again but still to this day I wonder,
What would have happened if I had delivered to them that day?
Was he ordering sandwiches or was he ordering a victim?
Who knows how close I came to whatever twisted thoughts ran through that man’s mind.
Would the other men just watch, claiming they did nothing wrong.
Would they deny knowing that a monster lived in their house?
Their silence said more than his vile words ever could.
In the few words he did say to me I knew he felt that he deserved me, that he could buy me with his black oily blood money.
I wish he was a monster, I wish he had eight bulging eyes, blood dripping from one long jagged tooth, a greedy black tongue lapping up the blood so he could taste every drop, bone white fingers with claws twice as long.
I would have slammed the door and ran.
The monster hunters would come and take care of him and no other girl would fall victim to this vile creature.
But one woman’s monster can be society’s upstanding citizen.
My monster might be your best friend, your boyfriend, your brother.
He might be the man who keeps our cars running and our lights on or the man with the badge and uniform.
He might be that incredibly athlete that the world loves, or the actor who has changed the film industry.
Monsters hide in plain sight and only their victims, the survivors, will ever truly see them.
Inherent Fear 