It was a day like any other. I woke up, slothed around, and then decided to take advantage of a free morning and trek to a bookstore. I immediately found a book that appealed to my inner political science junkie, found a fairly secluded section of the store, and started devouring geopolitical predictions for the next 100 years.

Out of nowhere, a gentleman sat down next to me, and immediately started his lame flirting game. I tried to blow him off with talk of a boyfriend, but he persisted in trying to engage me in conversation. I buried my head in my book. Rather than walking away, I had made a conscious decision to assert my autonomy and stay where I was. After all, I was there first. I felt I had an inalienable right to read wherever I wanted to.

While talking to me, the man laid his hand on my knee and I flinched and glared at him. This didn’t deter him. He then asked me if I wear thongs (hello, flashback to AOL chatrooms in the ’90s), and proceeded to elaborate on his freaky sexual proclivities. During this, he slid his hand up and down my leg, and I completely froze. I was shellshocked. I knew that I was being violated, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. He then asked me for a handjob – “it would only be quick,” he sleazed. I died inside. He touched my thigh for what felt like an eternity, though it could have only been a few seconds, and then he left me.

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Although the President of a college or university is the top administrator in charge (on campus – the Board of Trustee’s usually has equal power, in general), they are usually the last person to hear about a problem.

Proper protocol is usually required to get to the bottom of a situation. Sometimes you have to start with an RA or the Dean of Students; each issue has its own designated driver to get to the bottom of what’s going on. However, when you reach the end of the line and nothing is solved, going past the usual set of rules and skipping to the top becomes the only option if you want action!

After going all freshman year without much success from the Dean of Students and the Housing and Residence Life, my mom and I decided to set some time aside to schedule a meeting with the President of my university in hopes to get everything sorted out. Eager to put an end to the continual issues that beleaguered me throughout my first two semesters in college, I expected results and an apology from my university’s president.

Before going into the meeting I compiled a list of all the things that happened and how they were handled. I remember looking down at the list as we walked into her large office thinking that it really was one thing too many. As my mother and I spoke openly about my experience at Hollins and the issues that I have seen on campus such as bullying, harassment, and the roommate debacle I survived, President Gray (a very cheerful, articulate, and warm woman) sat across from us with a look of disbelief on her face. In telling her about the botched responsibilities of the Student Life administration, she spoke about not knowing these issues beset her campus. Apologizing for the terrible experience I have had on the campus, President Gray looked forward to making my university a better place with input on how to improve. Read More »

College pranks generally include duct taping someone’s door, moving a school mascot across campus to another location, writing dirty messages in chalk throughout a parking lot, posting fake fliers for crazy sex parties, and maybe even sometimes, throwing tar on a fraternities front lawn at 4am. What about the word “bitch” being written over and over again on someone’s whiteboard? Does that count as a prank? If that counts, where is the line drawn?

As I danced through (and let me say, there was a lot of dancing on the weekends) my spring semester of freshman year, everything came to a screeching halt when I returned from class one day with the word bitch written in big letters across my whiteboard. My first intention was that my friends did it as a joke – no big deal. But when I asked them about it, they had no idea what I was talking about.

And then it happened again. And again. And nearly every time I left my room. It turned into this monotonous cycle, where bitch turned into other words, and when I say ‘other’ words I am talking about every negative synonym under the sun. Then messages were left letting me know that I was disliked, “hated” in fact, around campus. My door decorations disappeared or were ripped up. My name was even blacked out on the community bulletin board for my hall. Eventually, my whiteboard disappeared into the grungy abyss of my neon green hallway. Every time I shut my door or pretty much blinked, I had to prepare myself with what would be there next. Read More »