silenced

I went with E to have beer with his professor tonight -- something I've been lobbying him to let me come to for a week. The professor is a young guy, the class is public opinion, and his blog is Gin and Tacos. For a while, it was just the three of us having a comfortable conversation about politics, pop culture, college culture, and the like. Then a fourth person joined us -- a student from E's class (who I'm calling DoucheBag) who kept coming up with out-of-the-blue questions like "Why doesn't Athens have a Steak 'N' Shake?" when the topic was abstinence-only "education." The conversation moved from bars (college vs grownup) to strip clubs, and DB decided to talk about going to the Clermont Lounge in Atlanta and getting a lapdance.

I have never been to the Clermont Lounge, but I've delivered meals on wheels to its attached hotel. The strip club is known for having real women -- fat, skinny, old, queer, straight, whatever. Just real. DB was floored that such a place existed that would showcase women outside the airbrush boobjob strip club stereotype that he apparently prefers. I interjected several times that the Clermont Lounge is known for having real women; I hoped this would dissuade DB from going further. It didn't. He decided to describe, in detail, the lapdance his friend bought for him. The dancer was a large African-American woman, around 50 years old, who had been a stripper for two decades. When he started pantomiming how big her chest was, the prof told him not to describe any more. DB did anyway. I started squeezing E's hand, and he squeezed back. We were both trying to think of ways to cut DB off, but we couldn't. I know that my face and my body language clearly signaled UNCOMFORTABLE. When it became clear I wouldn't be able to handle sitting it out -- "she took one tit and smacked me in the face with it" -- I got up and walked down the block. I left my purse and my phone and didn't say a word, just got up and walked away.

I felt silenced. There was no way out of that situation for me, except the one I took. If I said the story made me uncomfortable, I would be the castrating feminazi bitch who brought the conversation to a dead halt. If I asked E to say something, he would be the pussy-whipped boyfriend of a castrating feminazi bitch, and the conversation would still come to a stop. If I sat there, I would continue to feel myself and my self-confidence be minimized and I would shrivel. What else was I supposed to do? Argue that he should have enjoyed himself? Abruptly changed the subject? Get used to be objectified and ignored? Even the worst privileged unintentional asshole doesn't tell offensive jokes at the expense of a minority present, at least not without a "hey, I swear I'm just joking" disclaimer. (My family are experts in this sort of "disclaimer.") DB could tell that story because he knew I wouldn't stop him. He overpowered me without my having to say a word. The entire situation became unsafe for me in an instant; a conversation that I had been at least 1/4 of a few minutes earlier was suddenly For Men Only and I was neither welcome nor excused.

I walked back several minutes later, and we all left about ten minutes after that. On the walk back to the car, E told me how the conversation ended. They let DB finish his story, then E immediately said "Have you guys ever seen 'Live Nude Girls Unite'?" Prof said he used to show it in some of the classes he taught. DB asked what that was, and E explained that it's about the sex workers organizing and unionizing. The conversation moved on from there, and when I got back to my phone I saw that E had texted me to tell me when it was safe again. I don't think I said anything the rest of the time we sat there. I couldn't. I ignored DB; I don't think I looked up. If I did, it was on Social Autopilot.

And I still don't know what I should have done instead.