Originally published in June 2018
If there is a cheeseburger in front of me, little else matters. But on Saturday night, my cheeseburger and my evening were both ruined by a man who did what many men have done before. He saw a single woman sitting alone, and assumed he could play with her. He assumed she was there for his entertainment. He didn’t respect her time, her space, or her fucking cheeseburger.
There’s this entirely false (at least in my schlimazel life) idea of a single woman sitting down for a drink or dinner at a bar and some man who looks like he’s been cast to play opposite her sits down, strikes up a conversation, and the wedding will take place come fall.
In reality, a 30-something single woman sitting alone is target #1 for men 30–40 years her senior who are unattractive, imposing, and entirely inappropriate. I’m gonna make some comments on a man’s appearance now, and to all the men about to tell me “what my problem is” in the comments, this is my post, not yours. Have a nice day.
I sat in the last seat at an L-shaped bar in a really cool restaurant in a city I was visiting for both work and play. I like sitting in corners that offer a good view of a space. A friendly couple sat next to me, they were having a beer mid-bike ride, so I liked them immediately.
To their left sat a 300+pound , 65+ year old man in a tan suit with long gray hair past his shoulders and large silver rings on every finger. No, I shouldn’t have given him a chance, and no, I do not deserve to be made the bad guy for being repulsed by him. I am allowed to find men physically inappropriate for me. I said it.
When the couple left, the man, assuming it was his right, left the perfectly good seat he already had and saddled up right, and I mean right next to me. He had plenty of space remaining to his left but he scooted his chair as close to mine as possible. He then spread his legs as far apart as legs go. There’s manspreading, and then there’s what this person was doing. I shifted my body to the far right of my barstool, holding on with one desperate ass cheek.
He tried making conversation with me several times as I ate my dinner. I was polite, but not encouraging. I could have been rude but in my experience, that only excites men more. Ooh, she’s a feisty one. I tried to just diffuse the scenario, as so many women have learned to diffuse so many different scenarios, because being born a woman signs you up for training as a professional situation handler. Then he ordered a bottle of wine and I knew, I fucking knew, he’d just ended my night.
He continually offered me a glass of wine. I continually refused. Before he invaded my evening, I was having a really nice time. I chatted with the couple next to me, talked to the restaurant staff behind the bar, it was actually great for about twenty minutes. I don’t mind telling you that I’m in a place in my life where a nice night could do my mental health a lot of good. And then this imposing, assumptive, entitled man ruined it. Because I was a single woman sitting alone, and to him that means there’s no reason not to use her to enhance his evening. That’s what she’s there for.
I pushed my plate forward (which was heartbreaking because my french fries came with a fantastic sauce), asked for my check, and left as fast as I could. All because a person I wanted nothing to do with assumed it was his right to have something to do with me.
I was a doll. An unclaimed toy and after a quick head swivel to make sure nobody was going to say “hey, that’s mine!” I was entirely available for him to do with as he pleased. Because if a woman isn’t taken, she’s available. To any man. Right?
Attention all old men (yes I just fucking called you old men) who have ever invaded my space and my night and my cheeseburgers, hear this loud: I do not need the armor of a man or partner to enjoy my evening. I am not prey for you to stalk simply because I’m alone and hey, what do you have to lose? It’s me that loses. I lose being comfortable in a public space. I lose my sense of security in my surroundings. And I lose the chance to enjoy my evening.
You are not entitled to time with me simply because I spend my time alone.
YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO TIME WITH ME SIMPLY BECAUSE I SPEND MY TIME ALONE.
I don’t have to explain to you why I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t have to satisfy you in any way. So the next time you see a gal you think is just so pretty sitting alone at a bar, understand that she wasn’t put there for you. She isn’t a toy, a treat for you to enjoy. She isn’t there for your amusement. You are to leave her alone, allow her to have her evening, go home, and play with yourself.