Coffee John

“Do I have time?” I asked myself.

“Go in. It’s quicker than the drive through.” 

I walked in grateful to see only myself and one other customer. Two beautiful, petite females worked the counters.

“Medium – one sugar, please,” I smiled.

Out of the corner of my eye, a movement caught my attention. Turning to my right I watched in disbelief as the male customer reached across the counter and grabbed the worker’s wrist. With his left hand, he grabbed her other wrist. His right hand then climbed up her forearm brushing her breast.

He was a male, about 70 years old, with a wrinkled face and unseeing eyes. The heavy canvass coat cloaked what was once a muscular build.

“He can’t do that!!!!” I hissed to my counter attendant. “Where is your supervisor??? Get me your supervisor, now!” 

The man continued to climb up the cashier’s other arm.

A Caucasian female rounded the corner diplomatically asking, “How can I help you?”

Gasping and gapping, I pointed “He can’t do that!”

Fluidly the supervisor strode to the next check-out.

“John – John,” she raised her even tone to be heard. “John, you can’t do that to the girls.”

Coffee John looked at the supervisor with dead eyes and released his grip on the girl.

I stood unsure if what I had witnessed had happened.

My right fist knew. Defaulting to my upbringing, my right fist had clenched automatically. Coffee John was a regular!

I had confronted many similar old men in my time. Instinctively, I knew I could have dropped him with one punch – or kick.

Fortunately for Coffee John – and possibly for me - Coffee John was to my right. That meant my left fist would be the natural flow of defense in this situation. My left fist was not on auto pilot.

“Here you are, medium with one sugar,” said my counter attendant, interrupting my instincts.

“He can’t do that!” I said through gritted teeth. She lowered her gaze and whispered.

“I know. When he comes in, I always make sure I stand back so he can’t reach me,” she said apologetically glancing in the direction of her now absent supervisor.

Aghast with the full realization that Coffee John routinely assaulted ‘the girls,’ I repeated, “Every time – EVERY TIME! – you call your supervisor. He cannot do that!” 

Guts churning, mind whirling, I left.

To this day, I regret I didn’t have the quick wits to snap pictures. I regret that I didn’t physically intervene somehow. I regret that I didn’t tell Coffee John that he was breaking the law. I regret that I didn’t phone the police and the local news.

This was sexual assault in the workplace. The employer knew it happened regularly.

Daisy & Goliath: Sometimes Goliath catches you by surprise and it’s hard to know what to do.

Stand Tall. As a bystander you are powerful, simply by interrupting the dirty deed.