Serving in the restaurant industry is not only difficult physical labor at times but it is oftentimes emotionally difficult.

*Although this is not something I typically write about and have not explored creative writing as much, I feel this is a significant issue that needs to be addressed. This is my personal experience. I am not speaking on behalf of anyone but I do know people with similar experiences.

Sometimes the money is not worth the emotional demand of the entire experience of being a female server. Sometimes holding back tears in the bathroom is easier than walking out, expressing yourself, and creating an argument in fear of being framed a b*tch or too sensitive.

Sometimes it’s not the customers, but oftentimes it's the fellow employees. Sometimes being a female server makes this experience much more difficult because of the sexual harassment we endure everyday, no matter how concealed, acceptable, and even promoted it is within the workplace.

I am no longer tired of being sexually harassed every time I work. I am no longer tired of listening to remarks about how the comments were simply innuendos. I am just being too sensitive, it’s my time of the month, or you did not mean it that way. These are all justifications to devalue me and heighten you. Not to mention, you are both perpetuating and reinforcing societal norms and traditional values that women are passive objects. Women are demanding these cultural norms are invalidated; yet they are strengthened everyday.

I am no longer tired because this has proved to be unproductive, I am now angry. I am angry that women and men overlook these behaviors and become perpetual bystanders. I am angry that it is seemingly acceptable to slap someone’s body parts in front of customers and managers, and still, silence. Silence only condones this behavior and laughter encourages it. But laughter is always what I receive.

I am not saying this is not partially my fault. My jeans and shirts are sometimes too tight. Sometimes I wear too much makeup.

But sometimes I do not wear enough makeup and I wear a baggy shirt and jeans. What is fascinating is this does not discontinue any of these actions and comments from happening. But it is still partially my fault and society reminds me of this everyday.

I am no longer angry at others silence because I am angry at my own. I do not expect or need people to defend me all the time, but it would help. I would appreciate and accept anyone of higher authority condemning this behavior, but instead it happens in higher places as well.

I am no longer angry at your silence, I am angry with mine. I am angry that I smile and laugh and also overlook these behaviors when they are directed at me or other men and women. I am angry that I watch people deliver unwarranted grabs everyday. I am angry that I am accepting this behavior and realizing that this will not protect my sister or friends from these unacceptable engagements.

I am angry that I let myself become so emotionally drained by my own behavior through my silence. I am angry I do not retaliate after an older man says, “I’ll take the blonde (beer)” and winks. I am angry that sometimes a tip means more to me than my own dignity. But I am also upset that this comment is followed by laughter by his friends that again, deems his behavior as acceptable.

There is a fine line between flattering comments and those that are extremely objectifying.

There is a fine line between endearing or appropriate contact and an unwarranted invasion of personal space.

*Also noteworthy, there is a sexual assault prevention campaign at BSU titled #NotSilentBecause.