Follower

The week that was

Dear diary,

I want to tell a story about an experience that really coloured my late teens and pretty much my whole 20s. It’s an experience of someone, well, stalking me. Following me? Hmm. I find the wording tricky. Someone who just didn’t leave me alone.

I just wanted to make a note before starting that this Substack contains recounts of being followed/stalked. There is no violence, but I do discuss the fears I had at the time of the potential of violence. If that doesn’t sound like it’s for you, you can just scroll past the big wall of writing to the rest of the newsletter, or I can just see you next week :)

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This dude started stalking me when I was 18. It went on intermittently for at least 6 years. I worked at a local café and he would come in. He was an older guy, at the time he would have been in his late 50s early 60s. It started off innocently enough, he befriended my boss and colleagues, he’d overstay his welcome, would sit on one coffee for hours. He would come in by himself, or with an older lady he said was his sister. I was polite and friendly to him as I was to everyone. I was at work after all, my first job - I was pretty much being paid to be polite and friendly.

He started complimenting me. I was “different”. Like an “old time movie star”. He loved my red hair. My lipstick. I would smile politely and silently wish him to leave. Then he started bringing me flowers to work. Just flowers he’d picked from his garden, sure, but a bold and wildly inappropriate gesture. At 18, I didn’t know how to express that this didn’t make me feel good. I also felt as though I couldn’t express that sentiment, because I was at work. It was 2009 and I didn’t really know that it would have been okay for me to say “This is not okay!”

It was manageable for a while. I would politely smile, laugh it off, subtly throw the flowers in the bin in the kitchen, and busy myself. We were always busy there, luckily, but he’d always somehow take me aside. When he would come in when I wasn’t working, he’d ask about me - and found out where and what I was studying, which propelled his fixation further.

I would finish work and walk to the train station to go home. One day, there he was at the train station. Right at the only entry so I couldn’t escape. This then proceeded to happen every time I got the train home from work. He’d corner me, making conversation. I’d still be somewhat polite, I honestly didn’t know how not to be at that age. He’d tell me that he can be my mentor and that he thinks I should be an actor. He has a lot of contacts, and he’s friends with Russell Crowe and goes skiing with him. Russell would love me. I was “exceptional”, we should meet regularly to chat about my ‘career’. “I can help you.” Even at my ripe young age I knew this was a complete load of BS, but I uncomfortably listened, a few more times than I’d like to admit - desperately making eye contact with any one else in the vicinity.

I told my Mum and Dad. Dad went down to my work and told my bosses that he didn’t think this customer was acting with the best intentions and to be wary of him. Asked what kind of information they had on him - turns out he’d given two names to different people who worked there. The people who owned the café were kind, but they just chalked it up as a quirky customer. He continued to come back. Unfortunately he had learnt my routine. Mum and Dad would pick me up from work now, but he then managed to find me on my public transport commute to uni.

He’d always sit with me, but now, sick of it and no longer afraid of being perceived as rude, I would get up and move wordlessly. I would text my Dad as soon as I saw him and if he could, he race in the car to the closest train stop so I could get off. Dad and I ended up contacting the police. For a period there he would genuinely be on 1 out of 2 train trips I took. I noted down times, carriage numbers. The police asked me for all the information to look at CCTV. They never got back to us with anything, and didn’t seem to care. Something that makes me shudder now. I was lucky. There are other people who followed exactly the same trajectory of doing the ‘right things’ as I did, but without intervention, the perpetrator escalated. Unfortunately then it’s too late.

The police didn’t do anything. So my Dad did. I’d text Dad when the guy approached me on the train or when he came into work. At the time my Dad had this big white van with tinted windows. He’d drive to where I said I saw Mr. Stalker and essentially stalk the stalker. I imagine Dad pretending to read a newspaper with little holes cut out for the eyes. Dad observed his patterns. Turning up at the train station a few minutes before I’d be due to get there. If he was with his “sister”, they’d sit separately, at opposite ends of the train station. Dad saw them both individually talking to other unsuspecting young girls.

I got a new job. Not because of the stalking thing, because I moved on, and the stalker had expanded away from just work anyway, so it didn’t really matter. For my new job I would go to most of the National Gallery of Victoria media previews. I went with my new boss one day, and who was there greeting me at the door? None other than Mr. Stalker himself. He struck up a conversation with my boss, and not waiting to be perceived as super insane to my new employer - I was short but tolerated the interaction. When we escaped, I told her. She took it seriously, and contacted the NGV, who assured her they took the enquiry seriously. I never saw him there again.

When my Dad heard about this instance he did something. Nothing illegal! (ha ha) But he just spoke to the guy. Literally went up to him on the street as Mr. Stalker had done to me hundreds of times. Told him to stop talking to young girls. That the police have been informed. Period. I’m lucky to have my Dad.

It worked. Largely. I saw him a couple more times in public. Maybe coincidences, maybe not. He didn’t speak to me again though.

I can’t understate how scary this whole experience was. The long term nature of it. He was in my mind as a threat for the majority of my late teens to my mid 20s. If he came into work at least I knew I was in a busy place. But on the train and at the train station it was usually quiet, not many other people around. Would this be the one time he gets angry after I refused to entertain him? I grew up at the end of the train line and it was never busy. Trains would come every hour, so there was a lot of waiting. I was a sitting duck. My only mode of transportation was public transport, too - my fault for being late to get my license I guess. At the peak of the stalking I would have regular nightmares about seeing him and not being able to get away. I feel as though I’m trying to justify the impact this had on me. I don’t know why even I minimise it in my brain. “Eh, just a good old fashioned stalker, you’ll be right!”

At 28, I hosted a children’s workshop that was advertised publicly with my name and picture at a local library. I walked in and I saw him sitting there. I texted my Mum. She drove there and waited for me to finish. He couldn’t participate in the workshop (for children), of course, but he could just be in the public space. Silent. And there. What would I say to the organisers? “Excuse me! That guy over there used to follow me, made inappropriate/weird remarks to me and made me feel scared for years can you please ask him to leave?” I was older but it still sounded absurd to me. The thing is, nothing ever happened to me. I was just scared a lot of what could happen. And that’s not really quantifiable, is it? That’s the problem with violence against women. It’s at the level at which I experienced it, until it’s not.

The week before Christmas my Mum and I took Seren to Savers on a Sunday morning. The carpark was deserted, we hadn’t realised it didn’t open until 10am, and it was 9am. I was busy getting Seren out of the back seat and Mum was getting the pram out from the boot. I heard a man approach her asking “How old is your grandchild?” She answered and smiled. He then asked “How many grandchildren do you have?” She answered as I pulled Seren from his car seat and looked at this man talking to my Mum dead in the eyes. He shirked away and literally legged it down the hill away from us, towards the train station. A young girl in front of him hurried her pace. I watched until I couldn’t see anymore to make sure she kept the lead.

“Mum! That was LITERALLY my stalker!” I said. Everyone in my family knows about my stalker, but only my Dad knows what he looks like. I couldn’t believe it. He looked… old. And dishevelled and.. not scary. I actually nearly felt sorry for him. Nearly. It had been about 8 years since I’d seen him. He’d really aged badly. He looked pitiful. His clothes were dirty. He also had a bit of a limp. It really was quite a poignant interaction. In a deserted carpark with my Mum and son I was far from scared of this guy. In fact, he seemed terrified of ME. The moment of recognition in both of us when we locked eyes was so palpable. It took me a few minutes to collect myself. I think I said to my Mum “Wow, we could’ve taken him”. She agreed. But this time there didn’t seem a possibility that I’d need to.

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Scanned this image ages ago, at the time the above story started. It’s followed me around on my Laptops ever since. Thought it was nice here :)

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As always, here are some photos from my week!

Seren and Guinea at the farm : ) tractor was the bigger hit.

I allowed Seren a SMALL lick of my ice cream. His eyes popped out of his head.

We’ve been doing a lot of water play : )

No good Op Shop finds for ages : (

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Watching/Listening:

The other night I watched The Sixth Sense for the first time. I’m not hugely into scary films, I was too young when it came out, and it just hadn’t been something I’d revisited to tick off the list. Simon was out the other night and I was determined to watch a movie and not sit in front of the TV on my phone. Buoyed with confidence after watching Weapon last week I thought I could handle The Sixth Sense by myself home alone.

I really enjoyed it. Although, watching something that’s been in the cultural vernacular for nearly 30 years, I saw the twist coming a mile away. Also, Simon had informed me there were no jump scares. There were, in fact, many a jump scare. Mainly just dead people popping up here and there. One of them was Mischa Barton which made me a bit less scared because then I got to think about The OC, which isn’t scary.

I was a little dubious about Cole being ‘cured’, I mean, is he supposed to now dedicate his whole life to running errands for dead people so they can rest in peace? Also, how did he get to Mischa Barton’s funeral? He only went with Bruce Willis who is dead, and then I was wondering if the dead people ghosts can drive? Wasn’t anyone like “why is there an unaccompanied child at this funeral?” Just a few questions I had when I was trying to make myself not scared, ha ha. Toni Collette was brilliant. She’s so beautiful.

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Wishlist:

I’m so excited for my Christmas gift from Simon, a stay at a hotel in the city for one night. It’s coming up, so I thought I would run through the itinerary I’ve put together for myself because this level of organisation is how I operate, even for leisure activities!

Okay so first, I’m going to go to Brunswick Savers because I don’t get to go there very often because it’s a bit of a pain to bring Seren to. Then, I’m going to use my birthday vouchers I’ve been saving up to get a facial. After that, I’m going to head into the city to the hotel. It’ll be early evening by then probably. I might make a trip to buy a Sonny Angel or a Jellycat that I can play with in the room (haha) and then I think all I want to do the whole night is stay in the room and order room service. Have a bath, watch a movie, maybe, and sleep. Then in the morning I might splurge on the buffet breakfast, I’m not sure yet though. The next day, I have a booking for one of the makeup lessons at Mecca so I can re-calibrate my makeup routine. It’s going to be a transformative and restorative getaway, hopefully!

A night away is also the best Christmas gift ever. I’ve received it from Simon for two years in a row now, since I became a Mum. This time last year when I went for my hotel getaway, Seren was in a really bad place with his sleep, and I was really nervous to leave him. I was also still pumping, which is wild, so I had to pack my pump to bring to the hotel and I despised having to get it out and use it. This year - no god forsaken pump and no worries about Seren sleeping. In fact, Seren even prefers Simon to put him to bed now rather than me!

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Inside a book/magazine from my collection:

The second half of the Golden Circle Recipe Book this week. This entire book is so perfect for the weather we’re currently experiencing in Melbourne - a run of days over 40. The salads below are totally the things my Nanna would have busted out for us as kids in a summer heatwave.

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Best wishes,

Minna