This was originally published on A Deeper Story. Read part 1.

The chore list loomed before me one Saturday in June. As I priced bottle after bottle of Gatorade, Phil waltzed in to the store and started talking away.

"You're so smart. I can tell you're intelligent just by looking at you. And you're a nice girl, too. Girl? I should be calling you a woman. You're gorgeous, you know? You just kill me, you do," he continued. The missing part of his tooth captured my gaze as he rattled on.

He tried holding my hand several times but I wouldn't let him touch me. He stayed at the counter rambling for thirty minutes about my finer qualities, while I shrunk more and more inside myself. I hoped the pharmacist or other clerk might wander up front but no one came. When he finally left, I shook. How on earth could he say those things to me? There must have been 40 years between us.

In the following weeks, it was as if Phil knew my work schedule. It's possible he did. Without fail, he turned up every shift I worked 15 minutes before close. Hardly anyone would be in the store. I was alone at the front until he left. I didn't know what to do.

Had I brought this upon myself? Was it something I said? Maybe something I wore? I didn't have an answer for why an older man would act this way. I was terrified to go to work or even be near the pharmacy on the off chance he'd see me. I felt violated and alone. I was a teen and he was a customer. I couldn't tell any of my friends or family, convinced I was making something out of nothing.

I finally asked another female coworker about Phil. Had he ever treated her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable? She said he hadn't but told me to call her on the intercom if he came in that night. Sure enough, he came in 15 minutes before close and I paged her using our code word. Even though Kristy only wandered near the front of the store, I felt safer than I had in weeks. When Phil bought his usual lottery tickets, he gave me one of the instant game tickets. I won $3.

Another week passed before I mentioned vague details to my parents. They said I should talk to my boss. Given how scared I was to go to work, I knew it was the next step but my boss had a temper and his family was rumored to be "connected." Things were bad enough, it might be worth getting fired over. But, still, I waited.

One afternoon my boss called me in to discuss my schedule in his cramped office. He leaned back in his chair and asked whether I wanted additional hours. The conversation was brisk, down to business. It was now or never. I haltingly told him about Phil and the events of the past few months. I talked in circles, unsure what to include, still not knowing what to make of Phil's behavior.

He exploded, his fist pounding the desk. To my surprise, he wasn't mad at me. He launched in to a tirade, calling Phil every name in the book. Even ones not deemed suitable for 17 year old ears. He laid out of a plan of action and said Phil wouldn't be bothering me anymore. He would file a retraining order against Phil so he'd be unable to enter the store or have contact with me again. If Phil defied the restraining order, the store would sue him on my behalf. I hadn't any idea the pharmacy would go to these lengths for me, a mere teenager. He told me I should have told him sooner. I gaped openmouthed at him. If only I could have predicted his response.

There was one hurdle left: Phil had to be informed of the restraining order.

I paced behind the counter that night, eying the clock and the front door. Fifteen minutes before close, Phil neared the entrance. I paged the pharmacist, who came up without delay. Before Phil could say a word, the pharmacist informed him several employees had made complaints about him and he was not allowed to enter the store again or charges would be pressed.

Phil looked straight at me, his voice raising with every word. "The problem with you people is that you're not open-minded. Anyone who's different from you, you can't accept. This stuff happens to me all the time. I've been thrown out of places before..." His tirade continued as he made his final purchase from the pharmacy. My heart raced and skin crawled as I handed back his change. I wanted this to be over with.

"It was nice knowing you, kid," he tossed to me on his way out. I locked the door a few minutes later. I couldn't stop shaking. We were closed. It was over.

I haven't seen Phil since that night.

Seventeen years have passed but I still remember the gap in his tooth, the alcohol on his breath, the thud of my heart.

I still remember wondering what I'd done to deserve this.