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Sexually Harrassed: My Life in Pages p. 12,053

Saturday October 3, 2009

I’m awakened by the sound of the shower coming on in my hotel bedroom. I’m groggy from a sleepless night, a night which I had consumed a late night Whataburger and two tylenol PMs. This concoction is normally a perfect sedative but for some reason on this night I just can’t sleep.

It’s 7:45 when Doug says to me, “Good Morning” from behind the bathroom door which is cracked slightly. It’s day two of the Song of Solomon conference and although the weekend has been a cram session of Jesus and good times, I feel hung over.

A conference break at 10:30 has me interviewing young couples about hearing about the conference, “What was your favorite part?” I ask while holding a small portable camera. The young couple looks sort of granola with a pierced lip on her and the tattoo of a snake snaking down his arm. Flip flops and vintage t-shirts complete their carefully crafted “i don’t care” look.

It’s 1pm and I’m racing home to Plano in the rain. The rain is something that threatens to thwart me in my efforts to arrive to my 7pm appointment. It cannot impede me as I thrust onward in my olive green Honda Pilot which effortlessly guides me on and only occasionally hydroplanes and nearly removes me from the face of the planet.

At home I get ready for the 80’s party. I realize that the 80’s clothing styles were really all about the women and then I pause. Wait. All clothing styles are really about the women. Has men’s fashion changed all that much over the years? Tight pants, loose pants, cargo pants, beards, goatees, who cares?  It’s the women that dress up and they do it for us men and that is what matters so I don’t put on anything really 80’s, but instead slide into a white Adidas jacket with royal blue stripes, a pair of jeans and call it day.

It’s 1am in the morning and a large woman just lifted her shirt and flashed me. She’s drunk, married, and flirtatious. On the dance floor I find this same married woman suddenly pressed to my back, her arms wrapped tightly around my waste and her hips grinding me wildly, her hand dangerously close to my crotch.

Later I would find her facing me in this same position, but instead of her hand dangerously close to my crotch it is directly on my crotch and fondling wildly. I push her hand away and say, “Aren’t you married?”  “So” She replies, flippantly and without a smile. Her aggressiveness is alarming and before the conversation ends she has grabbed me 3 times.

It’s 1:30am and I am loading up my DJ equipment. The night has been a great success and unfortunately the married lady is not ready for it to be over. “Can I hold something for you?” She says as I try to put my equipment away. She grabs my crotch again and pulls me toward her. “You have a husband” I reply again pulling her hand off of my genitals. “He’s not awake, see, look right there.” She points to the dark window in the house next door. Her hands are all over my body and I’m forcing them away and thanking God that my friend shows up and cools the heated situation. As I am walking back into the house she tries a final attempt and puts both of her hands in my back pockets. “So you aren’t go to stay?” “Nope.” I respond and hurry quickly away to get the last of my stuff.

It’s 2:25 and I’m at home still unwinding from a very long day. I do a quick mental recap of the day and compare the odd turn of events. I go from a marriage conference that morning to being assaulted by a married woman that night. I shrug, pretty much a normal day in my life.

By Evan Stark

Eddie Renz is an avid fan of Egyptology, Wilbur Smith and bacon. Not a fan of humility but often finds himself humbled when he is around people who understand numbers like the Fibonacci sequence and Pi.

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