So I’ve seen a lot of posts floating around on my dash about tips and tricks for testing to see if your drink has been spiked (nail polish and rings and lipstick tabs huzah!) and while this is really very cool (and the lipsticks are super cute) I do think it is important to highlight one thing that seems to be getting overlooked about drink spiking.
I’ve worked door security for nearly ten years now and I have honestly lost track of the number of people who have come up to me and said they think that they have had their drinks spiked (not just women this is important to note, men as well).
The thing is, when thinking of drinks spiked, we automatically think of rohypnol or GHB, or any number of illegal drugs on the market. These are the drugs things like the nail polish or the anti-spike bottle caps that were all the rage when I was a teenager are designed to stop or detect.
The problem is that in 99.7% of the time, their drink has not been spiked with an illegal drug. A stranger slipping something into your drink is, thankfully, not all that common. That is NOT to say it can’t and doesn’t happen, nor is it to trivialize the importance of awareness or how great it is that we can now get nail polish that changes color if it detects a substance in your drink.
What it does, however, is highlight a very important and often overlooked problem that does not receive the attention it should. Notice how in the above paragraph I said that in 99.7% of the time your drink has not been spiked with an illegal drug? Notice how I didn’t just say your drink has not been spiked?
The stranger slipping a pill in your drink is rare. The person you kinda know and is kinda your friend who keeps buying you a drink and gets you doubles instead of singles? And maybe doesn’t tell you, or who pressures you into drinking it anyway? That happens all the time. Every night, in every bar.
Because THE most common substance used to spike drinks is ALCOHOL.
You think you are drinking singles - you’re not.
Your friend brings you a drink - and a shot you never asked for, but you drink it anyway.
It’s hard, when you are having a good time, to keep track of what you consume and that is when people take advantage.
In all the years I’ve been working doors, both in major cities and smaller ones, I can count on the one hand the number of times I have dealt with a situation where illegal drugs were used to facilitate an assault. I’ve lost track of the times I’ve dealt with a situation where the victim was simply too intoxicated to look after themselves. Who had lost track of their friends or their phone or their wallet, and who later says they didn’t think they’d been drinking that much. They had, they just didn’t know it.
So, after seeing all the posts on my dash about all these wonderful tools we have available to help us stay vigilant, I did think it was important to just add a little reminder that the biggest threat involved in drink spiking is the one most frequently overlooked.
I’m not meaning to be all doom and gloom. I’m certainly not saying don’t have fun or that it is your fault if you get drunk and don’t keep track of what you drink. Not even a little - just the opposite actually. I just want to raise awareness of the problem.
Stay fabulous and stay safe xx
Modesty culture is a ruse. More specifically, it’s a ruse that a man has the right to sexually violate a woman if she is not modestly dressed. It’s a ruse because women are not assaulted based on how they are dressed. We are assaulted because we are women living under patriarchy. It does not matter whether a woman wears a long potato sack or if she is nude. She is not safe from victimization so long as there are patriarchal men.
So then what is the purpose of modesty culture if it does not indeed protect women from sexual violence?
Modesty culture is a distraction. It allows women with internalized misogyny to trick themselves into feeling safer than they actually are. It allows folks to put down women and girls. And it allows male violence to be excused as it argues that it’s inevitable and out of their control.
Modesty culture does a lot. But it doesn’t protect or uplift women.
However, modesty culture has other implications. It promotes the idea that women do not own their own bodies. Our bodies are instead held captive by misogynist notions and by every individual man who has eyes to view us.
short excerpt from “On Rihanna Teaching Me to Say No to Modesty Culture" @ One Black Girl. Many Words. (via daniellemertina)
There is so much about this I needed to hear as a teenager.
The first time a man slapped me on the ass, I was fourteen years old, bussing tables at a family restaurant.
Catcalls make me jump out of my skin. I have never figured out how to take them as a compliment.
When I learned that “no” did not always stop slipping lips and wandering hands, I was sixteen. I was told that it was my fault for being tempting. I haven’t left the house with shorts on for years. It makes me nervous to be alone somewhere with another person when I have a dress on.
I always get uncomfortable when men make jokes about why women go to the bathroom in groups. Nobody likes to hear that we are taught from the youngest age that we should never go anywhere alone.
The second time that “no” did not stop someone, my date pulled up in front of my house and hit the door lock, wrapped his hand around my throat because I told him I just thought we should be friends.
The third time, I was sprawled out on a hammock in the front lawn with a man I’d been out with a handful of times. When I first said “no”, I thought maybe he didn’t hear me. “Please no, please don’t”. “Please no, please don’t.” “Please no, please don’t.”
Once I was told by a man that it was my fault if he ever went too far because his brain was wired like an animal. I didn’t argue. Can you believe that I didn’t argue? I wanted to say that even my dogs recognize the word “no”, but I was afraid of how he would react. I had to sit through the rest of the date with a smile on my face.
I carry my keys just to walk to the mailbox at night. I’m too paranoid to jog down my street alone.
I have been groped on the sidewalk. I have been groped at the bar. I have been groped on the bus.
The time I was followed all the way to my friend’s car by a group of men who stood around laughing and jeering and banging on the windows, not letting us pull out of the parking garage, was the last time I ever let a man buy me a drink at a bar.
I have men in my life who would call themselves my friends who have put their hands on my hips and my thighs without my permission. There is no question. They do not think they have to ask. They laugh when I bristle.
It took twenty-two years to realize only I had a right to my body.
I used to bite my tongue, but I do not say “no” quietly anymore. I bark my discomfort like an old dog, weary and uncomfortable even in its sleep.
So, a question, to my fellow male nerds:
What the fuck is wrong with us?
How much longer are we going to be in denial that there’s a thing called “rape culture” and we ought to do something about it?
No, not the straw man that all men are constantly plotting rape, but that we live in an entitlement culture where guys think they need to be having sex with girls in order to be happy and fulfilled. That in a culture that constantly celebrates the narrative of guys trying hard, overcoming challenges, concocting clever ruses and automatically getting a woman thrown at them as a prize as a result, there will always be some guy who crosses the line into committing a violent crime to get what he “deserves,” or get vengeance for being denied it.
To paraphrase the great John Oliver, listen up, fellow self-pitying nerd boys—we are not the victims here. We are not the underdogs. We are not the ones who have our ownership over our bodies and our emotions stepped on constantly by other people’s entitlement. We’re not the ones where one out of six of us will have someone violently attempt to take control of our bodies in our lifetimes.
We are not the lovable nerdy protagonist who’s lovable because he’s the protagonist. We’re not guaranteed to get laid by the hot chick of our dreams as long as we work hard enough at it. There isn’t a team of writers or a studio audience pulling for us to triumph by “getting the girl” in the end. And when our clever ruses and schemes to “get girls” fail, it’s not because the girls are too stupid or too bitchy or too shallow to play by those unwritten rules we’ve absorbed.
It’s because other people’s bodies and other people’s love are not something that can be taken nor even something that can be earned—they can be given freely, by choice, or not.
A friend of mine rejected a guy’s proposal so he beat her unconscious and kept her in his apartment for two days. He threatened her parents that he would kill her and when his parents and authorities got a hold of him, guess what happened to him? Nothing.
A guy yelled at me from a bar balcony to get my attention and when I ignored him, he threw his beer can at me.
A guy at McDonald’s couldn’t pick up on any fucking social cues that I was uncomfortable and intimidated by him. He took my phone, called his number with it so that he had my number. He tried to video chat me several times until I cursed him out and then he stopped.
Another friend of mine refused to have sex with her boyfriend (she was 14. he was 18) so he beat her up. She moved to another country because of him.
Rodger’s case is just some of the very few that are actually reported. It’s sensationalized to the point that people forget that these are daily occurrences. There are thousands of women telling their stories but nobody’s listening, even now.
Six people are dead and the only thing you can say is “not all men are like that.” Get the hell out of my inbox.