It was my first real job. I was 16 years old and working as a check-out clerk at a local grocery store. I loved the independence of making my own money, and I had a cool boss as a bonus. He was probably in early 40s, but he acted like a teenager. He cracked jokes, stuck around to play Pac Man after the place closed, and didn’t let much ruffle his feathers. He made work fun—for a while. After some time, he began making inappropriate comments, cloaked as a joke. Comments like,