Sexual Harassment Stories and Experiences

Valerie, Illinois

     In the winter of ‘01, I was working as a bartender in  Texas. An older man began coming in every day, but no one ever talked to  him. He was a bit unkempt, nervous, unshaven, long-haired, and I felt a  little sorry for him. So, I struck up a conversation with him one afternoon and found him to be a very intelligent person with a lot to say.

     His visits to the bar became regular, and he always sought out my company, which I truly didn’t mind.

     It wasn’t until I took a week off that I  realize I may have a problem on my hands. He began to show up where ever I was–the grocery store, the laundromat, a restaurant.  I soon began to  notice that he was following me. Each time I would leave my apartment, his van would show up behind me within a few minutes. The next time I saw him in the bar once I returned to work, I explained to him that he was making me uncomfortable and that I was NOT interested in him, that I had a boyfriend already.

     Well, he began to cry, which was REALLY weird to me.  And he didn’t go away either. 

     Then, it began to escalate. He started leaving cards and gifts on the hood of my car when I was at home, and bringing in gifts for me at work. I, once again, told him he needed to leave me alone, but he wouldn’t.  It was at this point that I started receiving hang up phone calls every fifteen minutes when I was home–each from a different pay phone. (I was getting really creeped out because I hadn’t given this man my phone number.)

     The next time he showed up at the bar, he was greeted by the manager and informed that he was no longer welcome in the establishment.

     That pushed him right over the edge. He called me and threatened me, saying I’d pay for what I’d done to him.

     Then it turned in to some sort of bizarre nightmare. He followed me everywhere I went, and waved menacingly behind me from the van. I started calling 911 every time I saw him. The police would arrive and several times the stalker got away. Eight different times, the police actually stopped him and questioned him. He, of course, told them that I was his X-girl friend, that I was a prostitute (my real boyfriend was my “pimp”), and that I was into all sorts of illegal drugs, etc. All lies. The cops recognized the stalker as a true threat, telling me “You need to be careful. This guy’s a real nut.” To which I replied, “No kidding!”

     Oddly enough, I found there was little I could do legally to end the stalking. If I had been in a romantic relationship with him, I’d have had all kinds of rights. But the fact that we were only acquaintances didn’t leave me any recourse. The police did not view the stalkers, “You’ll pay” comment as a true threat. Basically, until he actually hurt me physically, there wasn’t a thing I could do.

     I became a prisoner in my own apartment. I wouldn’t leave unless someone was with me or if I took a cab. The stalker began to show up at the Subway right across the street where I worked every day. One morning, he was standing in the parking lot of the bar as if waiting on a bus–his van was parked across the street at Subway. I called 911. When the police showed up, Mr. Stalker’s story just didn’t add up. The officer interviewed the person working at Subway who said, “Yeah, that guy comes in every morning at the same time and orders a sandwich, but he never eats it. He just sits down and stares at the building across the street.”

     On that note, the officer searched the van and found evidence that still makes my hair stand on end. It was stocked with water, canned food, pornographic material, a sleeping bag, binoculars, and ropes. He was living in his van and watching me 24 hours a day. Still, he was smart enough to know just how far he could push the law. He still hadn’t broken any law that could be proven outright.

     At that point, I took matters into my own hands. He told me he was affiliated with a local politician. I contacted this politician and told him what was going on. It turned out that the van Mr. Stalker was driving had been stolen from the politician. The politician agreed to report the van stolen and the officers sent Mr. Stalker a letter stating this fact. They told him that the next time 911 was called, he was going to jail.

     After that, he left me alone. I found very little legal help available during this year of hell, and that still upsets me greatly. I appreciate the help of the police force greatly, but the situation should have been handled with much more speed.

     I still suffer from anxiety attacks and nightmares. I left and moved back home to Illinois, but I still fear that I will see that van in my rear view mirror. My heart pounds every time I get a hang up call. And I wonder, what did I do to deserve this? I was kind to a lonely, pathetic person. Now I am terrified of all unfamiliar men and hesitant to make new friends. How long does it take to recover from being stalked? Maybe one never does.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 18th, 2007 at 5:08 pm and is filed under Effects of Sexual Harassment, Stalking. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.