It started off as a fun party.

A few friends in another department invited us over to a house concert. The performer was a talented and charming singer (we'll call him Dr. Ballad) who is a prof in a non-musical field at another university a few hours away. Dr. Ballad had been driven to College Town by one of his grad students, a guy in his early 30s who has recently returned from two tours to the Middle East.

As the party began, faculty from across campus enjoyed delightful music. After Dr. Ballad took a break, the crowd thinned out considerably until seven of us were left. Dr. Ballad sang a few more tunes, and we sat around the living room drinking Scotch and chatting between each song.

And then the party took a weird turn. Another guest excused herself, and suddenly I was the lone female in the room. I didn't think much about it at first. After all, Unexpected was there, and so was my department chair, and the other two profs from my university, including the host, are friends of mine. So it should have been no big deal.

Then the conversation turned to strippers. Someone made a rather off-color joke. But it involved some rather clever wordplay (hey, this was a room of professors), and I don't mind a good joke. I chuckled but noticed that my chair wasn't laughing. (The poor guy was probably thinking, "uh oh, stripper joke...and there's a feminist from my department in the room...it's funny, but how should I react? Is this gonna get me in trouble?") He smiled uneasily.

Then the grad student ("Loud Guy") decided we weren't drinking enough. He first tried to get Unexpected to have a drink, but Unexpected explained that he was driving. (And frankly, Unexpected has a strong personality, a large frame, and a strong voice, and he doesn't have to put up with too much crap as a result.) So Loud Guy then started bugging my chair. Chair declined, but Loud Guy kept pushing. Luckily, Loud Guy only bugged me about it once, because apparently drinking a lot is a macho thing anyhow.

The conversation got a little stranger, and Chair excused himself. We probably should have left then, too, but the music and Dr. Ballad's conversation were so enjoyable that I think we hoped civility might return.

No chance of that.

Our friend History Prof screwed up, badly. Inspired by a big gulp of Scotch, he decided to tell us about studying in Ireland back in the '80s when birth control was illegal. As a result, he couldn't score with the Irish women. He could only get his hand about "this far" up a woman's thigh before getting in trouble.

The thigh he used to illustrate this point? Mine.

I was annoyed (and certainly surprised), but I knew it was one of those things he'd feel really stupid about later when he sobered up. So I didn't say anything. It was an awkward situation, and the guy has been a friend. I'll chew him out for it later, but I chose not to make a big deal about it at the party.

At this point, we really should have left.

Because that's when Loud Guy turned into a total asshole. "Hey, Unexpected, why are you letting History Prof grab Terminal's leg? Does that mean I can, too?" He got up from his chair, walked over to me, and started feeling up my thigh. I'll spare you the details.

I was stunned and simply had no idea how to react. (Unexpected, in a conversation with someone else--it was a loud room--actually missed this entire event.) Loud Guy sat back down, and Dr. Ballad looked at him and said, "Shut up. Now."

Loud Guy took a swig right out of the Jameson bottle, looked at his adviser and replied, "Fuck you, man."

A series of F-bombs followed. Our host turned to Dr. Ballad and quietly said, "Loud Guy is never coming back to my home." Dr. Ballad agreed.

I turned to Unexpected and said, "We have to leave. Now."

***

It was only in retrospect that I realized how upsetting the whole event was. First of all, there's the weird dynamic of being the only female in the room. When the conversation gets crass, what do you do?

Do you laugh to show you're "one of the boys?"

Or do you act disgusted by every crude statement?

Or smile and understand that "boys will be boys"?

Do you risk looking like a prude and leaving when the conversation gets too rough?

Or do you ask a bunch of half-drunk (or, in Loud Guy's case, very drunk) guys to remember that you're in the room?

Or do you wait for one of the guys to be a gentleman and change the topic, rescuing you from the discomfort?

And if you're a feminist, and usually a strong woman, shouldn't you be able to handle it yourself?

And why the hell are they grabbing your leg, anyhow?

Oh, right. Because you're the only female in the room. And since you laughed at the first off-color joke, and since you're willingly hanging out as the lone female in a room of men, your body must not be off limits, right?

***

Unexpected and I talked about it when we got home. (He was, of course, rather horrified and apologetic that he hadn't seen Loud Guy grabbing me. But it's probably better that he didn't, because I'd hate to see a room of loud Southern men really get angry at each other, especially when most of them have been heavily...uh...inspired...by a couple bottles of Jameson's.)

I was, of course, rather upset by the whole thing. I haven't been around too much drinking (yes, really, despite 13 years of higher education) and don't really know how to deal with drunks other than to stay the hell out of their way. And I was really ticked by being singled out for my gender and made the butt of a stupid joke. I hate having my space invaded, but I'm NOT good at speaking up when it happens, because I don't want to make people uncomfortable. (Never mind that *I'm* terribly uncomfortable, of course.)

The irony? Remember Little Weasel? You know, the guy who puts his arm around me? I thought he'd be at the party (he wasn't). So I'd actually practiced saying, "Please remove your arm. Now." But when the same thing happened, with a different guy, I couldn't say it!

Although doing nothing may have been the best way to deal with an alcoholic, macho, ex-soldier who most likely had Iraq-induced post-traumatic stress disorder.

Unexpected and I agreed that from now on, if a party starts getting out of control, it's NOT going to turn good again, so we might as well leave. Midnight's probably a good time to head home anyhow.

As his mom used to tell him, "Ain't nothin' good happens after midnight."

In this case, she was right.

Labels: female and academic, lessons learned the hard way, things that make me so furious I could scream