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Put Your Hands Down My Pants

At nineteen, I decided I was sick of working retail, so I started
looking for a new job. I found an ad on Craigslist, as shady as it
was, for a leasing agent job. The ad said it paid free rent, which,
for a broke teenager, sounded like a dream come true. My mother and
stepfather owned a real estate company, so I knew the business well
enough. I applied, and promptly got the job.

I should have known better: the complex is located in the ghetto, and
on my first day, I was informed that I’m a property manager, and that
the apartment is somewhat of a stipend, therefore the rent is
considered part of my paycheck. I should have walked out when they
said that, then made me sign a paper saying the apartment was not
mine at all and WASN’T considered part of my salary. But I was
desperate.

I worked for a few months without meeting the man who owned the
company. I heard he was kind of a flirt, but he paid for his
employees to go to college and had a good sense of humor. Thinking I
could handle this, I agreed to let him to take me out to lunch one
day so he could “get to know” me. He lives about an hour away, so
it’s rare for him to come down, and I wanted to make a good
impression.

The man is a nightmare. Seventy-something years old, with a mouth
like a sailor and absolutely no filter. During the course of our
lunch, he commented on my physical appeal, and straight up asked me
if I was interested in “having a physical relationship” with him. I
politely declined, and assumed the matter was settled.

I could not have been more wrong. Since then, he has grabbed me
inappropriately numerous times (including in front of my coworker and
in front of several tenants); commented on my assets in the raunchiest
ways; told me about his diabetes and how his “f***er don’t work” but
that he liked to receive oral sex from attractive girls; and would
talk to me for at least an hour about how beneficial it would be for
me to be one of those attractive girls. Scared of losing my job, I
didn’t punch him in the face. Instead, I would just step away from
him and tell him to stop, and pleaded with my coworker to never leave
me alone with him– not that he cared if anyone was there or not.

On top of all of this, he is a complete jerk: at a company party over
the summer, I found out a friend of mine had died in a car accident,
and while I was sitting there sobbing, he came up and grabbed my
breast.

Not to mention, he’s racist as all get-out: he uses terrible words
for minorities, and told a female applying for a position in the
office that he doesn’t hire black people.

The real kicker is, the last time he was down here, he tried to put
his hand down my pants to grab my butt. I stepped away and said,
“Don’t do that.” He proceeded to sit down at my desk and launch into
a two-hour speech about how it was “such a shame” that I have so much
potential that I’d “never live up to” because I “don’t do what it
takes to be successful”. I decided then and there that if he wanted
to see my potential, I would show it to him. In the form of a sexual
harrassment lawsuit. I was infuriated that he had stooped to the
level of psychological warfare because I’m a young female and he
thinks I’m easy to prey on.

I’m staying long enough to record a few of his “advice” sessions (the
man seriously considers propisitioning me for sexual favors and
promising money and security in turn as the greatest advice I could
ever receive), and then I’m going to find a new job while going
through the court procedures. I want to make sure he never does this
to another attractive female as long as he lives.

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