Sexually Harassed At The Cinema

When I was fifteen, I used to spend a lot of time at the movie theater. Alone.

I would skip school and take the bus to the mall where I’d spend the day seeing the same film over and over until it was safe to go home (that’s how I saw Madagascar so many times). One particular day, I was waiting in line to get a ticket and this tall, wide, peculiar guy kept looking at me. He was probably in his late thirties and a few people behind me. I noticed him because I was always looking around to make sure I wasn’t being watched (which probably got me watched even more). I made the mistake of looking back three times and, on the third time, he squinted and gave me one of those upturned nods. I ignored it, got my ticket, and went inside. I saw him in the reflection of one of the poster display cases, still watching me. It was really strange.

I went to take a piss and while I was washing my hands, he passed by the open door. He looked inside, up and down the hall, then came in and shut the door. I tried not to look at him in the mirror. He didn’t even use the toilet or anything, he came to the sink right next to me and started washing his hands.

“How you doing?” He asked, his voice, like so many pedophiles, was soft and inviting. It contrasted vividly with his rough ass, stubbly, and pockmarked face.

“Okay.” I did not like talking to unfamiliar people.

“You here with your girlfriend?”

I thought it was a really odd thing to ask, so I laughed.

“No, no. I’m just …” But I didn’t know what else to say. We he trying to see if I was alone?

“Oh, you here with your wife?”

“No, I’m fifteen.” Big mistake. Never let a suspicious character in an empty restroom know you’re under eighteen.

I finished up, dried my hands, and was ready to leave, but he had other ideas. He got really close and reached out to touch my arm but I looked at his hand and he stopped.

“Wait — you’re fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“You ever have sex before?”

There it was. BOOM! I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I knew that I wanted to get out of there.

I stuttered and fumbled over my words, laughing nervously the entire time, which I’m sure emboldened him.

“No, no ...” He clarified, showing me his hands. His wild, unnerving eyes bulged like I was supposed to understand what it meant. “Have you ever had sex with men?”

That was it. He was too tall, too wide, and too old. If he wanted to, he could easily overpower and drag me into one of those stalls. I had to go.

I felt like I was seeing him for the first time because my socially awkward brain used to panic when I looked people in the eyes and made it hard for me to catalog their features with any confidence. I saw him pretty clearly now and I didn’t like that he suddenly seemed so excited.

“Oh my god, no-no-no.” I started waving my hands around and retreating to the door. “I’m not interested, I’m not interested!” I just kept saying that, like he was trying to sell me something. I saw him move forward because I was looking at his shoes, but as soon as he did, I turned and power walked out of the bathroom and up the hall.

I lingered in front of the concession stand because there were at least two other people there, but I didn’t want to buy anything. I saw him come out of the bathroom shortly after that. He looked at me for a while and I looked right back. Then he turned and went on his way to see whatever movie was out that year that creeps went to the cinema to see.

I stayed at the concession stand for a while wondering why he had chosen to accost me like that. I wasn’t a very tough-looking guy and my hair was pressed out and in a ponytail. Maybe something in my mannerism? Did I somehow invite him by looking in his direction too many times? Did I bat my lashes and not realize it? Was it somehow my fault? I had no idea and I didn’t want to miss the previews.

I waited until I was sure that he wasn’t coming back before slipping into my auditorium, which was luckily within view of the concession stand. I tried to focus on the film but kept looking over my shoulder at the door every time it opened or the lights got too dark. I was scared, so I left after the first twenty minutes. I kept expecting to see him in the hallway, but I didn’t. I went home even though it was too early for school to have let me out. I didn’t go back to the cinema by myself for a few months after that.

I saw that guy twice more, once a month later while in the mall with my family (but he didn’t see me), and again a year or so later while leaving the cinema with some friends. He saw me that second time and I’ll never know whether or not he recognized me. When he was out of sight, I whispered to my friends, who I had told about the hilarious and bizarre encounter, that he was the guy. They rushed to find him — to catch a glimpse — but they weren’t able to. I was relieved.

I’ve told that story a handful of times over the years as a killer joke, exaggerating its more bizarre aspects, but never admitted to being afraid.

This is a blog post that originally appeared on my site Metallically Black under the title Diary Of A Socially Anxious Introvert II.

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