Lucky....

So as many of you already know I try to keep politics to a minimum here on this blog, be they the politics of the nation or the political rumblings within the wine business. It’s not that I don’t have opinions, hell I have loads of them, just not so arrogant that I assume everyone cares what they are, or that my rants here are going to do anything to change anyone else’s mind. In the earlier stages of this blog I would climb atop my soapbox more, sling some mud around or cheer when my political party had a victory but, well I began to see there was really no point, nor did politics have any place on a blog where the focus has always been to bring people closer, make them more comfortable, showing the more personal side of wine and the people involved in it. The more political pieces I wrote simply didn’t fit or belong here. Now that being said….

“Can I buy you a drink?”

My husband was out of town a couple weeks ago and after a long 9 hour shift I found myself hungry, tired and not in the mood to head to the market let alone cook, so I did something I had only done a couple of times before, have dinner out and alone Headed to a local place my husband and I go to at least once a week, good food, servers that know us and that has a great little backroom bar that’s quiet and if anyone there is “on the make” they are the 80 year olds from the senior living center down the road. As safe a place as I could think of to have a drink and quick bite to eat. Walked through the front door and gave the usual smile and point to the hostess, letting her know that I was heading to the bar and would not need her to seat me, made my way down the hall and stood at the podium at the entrance of the low-lit bar until a busser gave me a nod to pick whichever of the ten open tables I wanted.  Slid into a booth and gave the server, (not my usual one but it was a Tuesday and I rarely go on Tuesdays) my drink order, pulled out my phone, a book and a small notepad I keep for taking notes. Things to busy myself while I waited for my food.

My drink arrived, icy and exactly what I was needing, after one sip I gave the server my order before going back to my cell phone to read and answer emails. “Can I buy you a drink” I looked up from my phone, past my still half full cocktail to see a man that looked to be in his mid-fifties standing at the edge of my booth, a glass filled with ice and some sort of brown spirit. “Oh, that’s sweet, thank you so much but I have one” I said with a fairly warm but firm tone. “You might be in need of another one plus it breaks my heart to see a beautiful woman sitting alone in a bar” I could feel my face going a little hot but stood firm. “I’ve already told her” pointing at the server across the room, “that I will have another when my dinner comes. Just popped in here for a quick bite and some quiet since my husband and his friends are playing cards at home” total lie but I wanted to make it very clear that I was married and in fact there to have dinner and some peace and quiet.” “I would never let my wife eat out alone” the getting-less-attractive-by-the-second guy responded, “Yeah? Well I can’t imagine why” I lobbed back, this time less warm and with the smirk that tends to make others back down pretty quickly. This dude, relentless. 

The banter continued and after a few minutes I was pretty damn blunt, not easy for me as I know it takes some courage to walk up to a stranger and I never want to hurt anyone’s feelings but, “I really do appreciate the gesture, I’m flattered but I honestly did just come in for dinner and to be alone” which was met with, “Oh you work at The Wine Country? That’s the place on Redondo, in Signal Hill right?” fucking uniform. So now I was not only me I was a spokesperson for the store which makes being mean even trickier. This began a short conversation as to why I was having a martini rather than glass of wine, “Well the wine list here is pretty dreadful, plus there’s just something about steak and eggs with a cold martini that works for me” still in store mode and grateful to see my server heading to the table with my dinner and second drink. Plates placed before me, my tummy rumbling both from hunger and anxiety but knowing this would be the end of my little unwanted chat with a stranger.

I slipped the silverware off the paper  napkin, laid the napkin in my lap and took a little bite of buttery, crunchy and still warm hashbrowns. Surely this would be an indicator that it was time for my pesky intruder to go away, “Hey I need to use the restroom, you mind if I leave this here?” the asshole now placing his sweaty drink on my table. “Dude, the bar is right there and that’s kind of what they do right? Watch your drink?” to which the cat chuckled and waltzed off to the “Little boy’s room”….fuck. I start eating, finished off my now too warm first martini and took a sip of the second for refreshment and a bit of liquid courage, time to be rude dammit. I was slightly distracted by how perfectly my meal was cooked, steak had a nice seer and was delightfully reddish-pink inside, eggs just set and yolks still oozy, just the way I like ‘em, and those damn hashbrowns the best I’d had there in months. Could have been a wonderful meal….

My fork and knife in hand I start to cut another piece of steak, had nearly cut a piece off when I feel the cushy bench seat beneath me tremor a little, look up to see that smarmy grin and flat brown eyes staring back at me, this time across from me….at my table. The aggressive prick had taken it upon himself to have a seat, at my table, while I was trying to have dinner, alone. He picked up his drink, wet wad of cocktail napkin still stuck to the bottom, leaned back against the back of the booth and shot me what I’m sure was his, “No chick can pass this up” smile. I pushed my plate to the side, laced my fingers, my back rigid and face now twisted into a fierce glare. “Look dude, I’ve tried to be polite, tried to be compassionate, I’m really not a bitch but you don’t seem to be hearing me. I came here to be alone, I’ve said that over and over again, not looking for a dinner….or any other kind of companion. You’ve gone well past being annoying and are teetering on the edge of pissing me way the fuck off. If you don’t get up now I will have to ask these people throw you out” I said through teeth so tight I could feel an ache in my jaw. 

A long stare, my eyes filled with anger and the tears that tend to come with that as I watch the goofy, flirty face across from me go from hopeful to full of rage. “Fuck You!” he screamed at me, “You should feel lucky I was even hitting on you in the first place!” bits of spit gathering in the corners of his snarling mouth, arm now raised in a backhand position and with an extremely violent swipe he knocked over not only my glass but the condiments on the table, everything crashing around me in a series of clinks and thuds. Startled by the noise and the pool of gin that was now gathering into a little river and was headed straight for my lap, I leapt from my booth to my feet just to hear the clatter of more noise as he slammed his fist against the table. My head reeling, heart pounding so hard it was making my ears ring, my hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as the prick slowly rose from the table, “Ma’am are you alright?” followed by, “Sir, is there a problem here?” two Long Beach police officers that just so happened to be on dinner break a couple of booths behind mine, now standing between the asshole and myself. Guy taken outside, table cleared, a fresh new cocktail and the offer of another meal to replace the now cold one. Dinner was already ruined and my stomach wound into such tight knots that any appetite I had was long gone, I sat with the officer and relayed my side of the rather unbelievable story, my hands shaking almost too much to even bring the martini to my lips. The gin steadying my nerves a bit as soft-spoken officer tried to calm me down and assured me that I had in fact done everything correctly…. 

“You didn’t sit at the bar, you had reading material, you aren’t dressed provocatively” those words swimming around in my head as I made the drive home, incident behind me as well as two very well meaning officers that insisted on tailing me to make sure I got home safely. As well-meaning and correct as the officer’s comments were I found that I was even more enraged by the time I got home. “You did everything correctly”? Is there a laundry list of shit that men have to consider before dinning out alone? Complete and utter bullshit, a sad fact but still bullshit.

The whole incident too much of a glimpse back into a part of my history that I’ve spent a long time trying to distance myself from. The locking of my front door and closing of all the windows in my apartment, that uneasy feeling with each and every noise from outside, the fear that I’d rid myself of back, a least for a little bit, leaving me feeling deflated and by morning, severely pissed off. I knew that guy wasn’t coming for me, in fact the police told me he was extremely embarrassed by his behavior and while I felt threatened for that moment at the table I wasn’t even really afraid to drive home alone but….. that look in his eye, that trigger temper, that, “who the fuck do you think you are” face, that loss of control on his part….wasn’t the first time he’d gone after a woman, sadly probably won’t be the last either. 

Tuesday night The Wine Country hosted a fundraiser; one Randy has been doing for years and one that I find too difficult to work, simply due to the fact that I find it damn near impossible to hold my shit together long enough to make it through it. An event to raise funds for a cause that far too often goes swept under the rug. A cause that infected my family for a decade and that to this day finds little pockets of infestation that flare up, cause suspicion and leave me…in the face of questions and “Why didn’t you tell us all of it?” longing for the faceless, nameless moments of peace found in that bloody bathroom stall. Last year I wrote this post, http://sansdosage.blogspot.com/2011/04/asking-for-help.html  sharing my story, the nightmare I went through, for over 10 years and while I never lived with the man that stalked, tormented, tortured and haunted me I can say, without hesitation, or apology, I was a victim of domestic violence. Bats against my skin, broken teeth, running up the stairs of my complex, my shirt hanging in rags in front of me, back exposed, bleeding and raw from a beating, the cold tip of a knife digging into my flesh as my monster slashed at me. I ran, I hid, I fought long enough to make it into the safety of my home. Did what I had to, needed to, to make everyone believe I was on top of a bubbling situation that could have cost me my life.  Thing is, I had a place to go….

I was lucky. Didn’t feel so lucky when I splashed cold water on my face, held the cotton balls saturated with peroxide, to my split open and enflamed skin. I felt lost, afraid and like a fool for ever falling into a web of suffocation and brutality in the first place. Like it was my fault, for being blind or stupid or so alone that I would let a monster close enough to do irreparable damage to me or my family. Owned that long after the slashes and bruises were gone. The event our store hosted raised money for the people that didn’t….don’t, have anywhere else to run. Think about every woman you have ever truly loved…now click on this http://www.sucasadv.org/. Help them. Help them assure all of us that there is indeed a place to go, to feel protected and cared for….a little bit of peace and quiet not filled with shame, rolls of tissue paper collecting blood or in the grease scented stalls of a fast food restaurant. Help them.

I woke this morning, the buzz of good doing and hope pushing at the balls of my feet and making me feel light and strong as I made my way to my morning coffee. Poured the blackish liquid onto my mug. Clink of metal as my spoonful of sugar clunked and bumped along the side of my mug, the “sploosh” of cold milk  added and I had my milky coffee, cigarettes and it was time for the reading of all things important.

This is when I found this: http://my.democrats.org/page/s/reauthorize-the-violence-against-women-act?source=DNC_HQB

So the GOP is all up in arms now that the Violence Against Women Act now includes same sex partners and the ever unsavory, undocumented immigrants. They are trying to kill the bill this week, because of the addition of gays and illegals...no thought to all the good the bill has done. So let’s forget the fact that that since 1994, when this act was passed, that domestic violence abuse has decreased by 54 percent and the number of women, being killed, killed, by intimate partners had dropped 34 percent. We are seriously considering throwing this baby out with the bathwater?!Don’t let this happen. 

The girl that nursed those sores, stood in the face of pure evil, tried her best to raise a family…bruises, cuts, sores and all is now asking for the help that I never did way back then….help me, help us, please. I was lucky, many women aren't.

I won’t ever forget, nor will I surrender...

Take a half second..

Please.

End of political rant.....