Pay it Forward

By Michelle Simonsen

It was a sub-zero night in January, 1992.  I was 18 and ready to have some beers with my friends on a Saturday night before school resumed for the second semester.  I remember feeling safe and happy with my friends before we wandered through the frozen tundra looking for the next party.

In a few hours I would be raped.  By one of my “friends”.

After the party, we came back together and hung out in a friend’s dorm room.  I had way too many beers and was feeling really groggy and sleepy.  I crashed on the bottom bunk of my friend’s bed.  I wasn’t worried.  Every single person in that room was my friend and I trusted them.  Later I heard someone say, “Will someone take her down to her room?”  “Jim” responded that he would and then carried me over his shoulder down a flight of stairs to my room. 

That was the last thing I remember.

I was dreaming about my boyfriend who was 2,000 miles away in Marine boot camp.  When I opened my eyes and the hazy fog cleared, I realized my boyfriend was not in my bed.  It was my “friend” Jim.  I didn’t have to ask any questions.  I knew what he had done to me.  I started crying hysterically.  Jim said nothing to me.  He just walked out and I never spoke to him again.  I also never confided to any of my friends or tried to call the police.  I knew what happened to the girls who tried to press rape charges on campus.  They never won, because the system forced them to walk away.  They were shamed.  They didn’t know how to reach out to others just as I didn’t.

I spent the rest of my college years spiteful, defensive and angry. I used to think that moment was the worst thing that has ever happened to me.  Somehow I took a negative and turned it into a positive.  I hope to continue paying it forward in my quest for helping others who have been victimized. 

If you too are a victim, consider taking that negative you are holding in your heart and reach out to others.  You’ll never know how good it feels when you say, “I know exactly how you feel.”

A LIAR IS A FOUR LETTER WORD

By Michelle Simonsen

Five years ago, when I first heard of Joran van der Sloot, I prayed that the stories he told Aruban officials while being interrogated would actually lead to the truth—the location of Natalee Holloway. Every night I sat glued to the television and watched Joran take the Aruban Police, private investigators, the media and Natalee’s family on a wild goose chase in and around every dark crevice of Aruba to no avail. He smirked and took pleasure in telling investigators 20 different lies as to what happened that night of May 30 and what happened to Natalee.

By the end of the summer of 2005, I felt like a fool. I hoped that one of those lies would lead to Natalee. Instead, I witnessed the aftermath of what a pathological liar could do not only to a family, but to several countries, and millions of people across the world. We were all duped by an 18-year old psychopath.

Not only has Joran had five years to hone his craft, but he’s been able to roam the globe putting his monsterous techniques to use. Since he is a smarter and more experienced pathological liar and psychopath, he’s been able to dupe Peru as well.

On June 7, 2010, Joran confessed to murdering 21-year old Stefany Flores Ramirez on the same day he murdered Natalee Holloway in 2005. This time we had more information. The media reported she was found on the floor of Joran’s hotel room wearing only a t-shirt and underwear. She was beaten to a bloody pulp with an object, reportedly, a tennis racquet, causing blunt force trauma to her head, neck and torso. She sustained an intracranial hemmorage due to the force of the blows. Her neck was broken. And as reported by her brother, her eye was missing, stating she was “unrecognizable”.

However, Joran’s “confession” of striking Stephany a few times and grabbing her by her neck does not match up with her injuries.

Why were there bruises covering her entire body? Why was she only wearing a t-shirt and underwear? Why was her eye missing?

Try a new strategy Joran. The lies don’t fool anyone anymore, and your bogus confession does not add up.

If everyone in the world already knows how he operates, then why are Peruvian officials drinking the Joran van der Sloot “kool-aid”? Not once in five years has that waste of a human being ever told the truth. How can he continue to mesmerize smart people into believing his lies, false confessions and half truths?

Joran is going to spend a long time in a Peruvian prison no matter what story he spins now. However, just because Peru “has their man”, doesn’t mean they should accept his lies in order to close the case and drive the blood thirsty worldwide media out of town.

Don’t they owe it to Stephany?

A Bad Business

By Michelle Simonsen

In the spring of 2001, I was 27 years old.  I was just downsized in a mass layoff from another company.  It just so happened that my mother was working for an environmental firm in the same business complex.  She suggested I send my resume to her because she was the President’s executive assistant.

I got the job, and immediately the President “Terry” treated me so well.  He didn’t treat me like an inexperienced 20-something bimbo.  He was quite the opposite.  He treated me with professional respect, marveled over my resume, and promised that if I had the drive, I would go very far in this company.  I was thrilled.

The harassment started out small.  First there were emails that read, “So, do you want to play?”  I deleted them and shrugged them off.  I couldn’t believe those messages meant anything serious.  Terry was a married man with five children!  However, I was so naïve it took many incidents before I realized what was going on.

Early that summer, I was invited to an out-of-town environmental seminar.  We would all stay in a hotel.  I roomed with the company’s attorney, “Catherine”.  The morning we were leaving, the hotel phone rang.  Catherine picked it up and handed me the receiver.  I had no idea who it was.  Surprisingly, it was Terry.  He told me that his wife forgot to pack his toothpaste and would I bring mine down to his room.  I replied, “Why don’t you get some from the front desk or have them bring it to you?”  He insisted that I come down immediately, and I did what I was told.  He was my boss.

When he opened up his door, he was standing there completely wet wearing only a towel.  I handed him the toothpaste and backed up several feet.  He said, “Do you want to come in?”  I stated, “No.”  He looked at me as if I was crazy and said, “Oh jeez…I’m not going to do anything to you!  Don’t be stupid…”

Terry told me to sit down and relax.  I sat down, but I was not relaxed.  He pulled out a joint and handed it to me saying, “Here, smoke some of this since you’re so uptight.”  I was floored!  Not only was my boss smoking weed in front of me, but he offered me some as well!  I told him no.  He said, “Oh, come on…who am I going to tell?  Your mom?”

He started to dress in front of me, while I turned my head.  I was sick to my stomach. After about 40 minutes, he finally used my toothpaste and returned it to me.  I was free to leave.  I ran up the stairs not knowing what I was going to say to Catherine.  I walked in the door and she looked at me as if I had done something wrong and said, “Why in the hell were you down there for almost an hour?”  I told her nothing.  I was scared of the consequences if I told her about Terry and what he did. Instead I just explained to her that I gave him the toothpaste and he had me sitting there waiting for him.  I didn’t tell her that he was only wearing a towel and dressed in front of me.  I didn’t tell her that he was smoking a joint and offered me some.  I don’t know why I felt I needed to protect him for his actions, but I did and kept my mouth shut.

Terry began to constantly call me into his office telling me to bring a pad and pen.  When I showed up I was always ordered to close the door behind me.  He explained that he wanted me to take notes about where I was heading in the company.  He threw out all these fantastic titles, and what kind of work I could do.  He basically told me that I had free reign of my position and he would even let me make up my own responsibilities.

Terry had a disturbing habit of pushing papers towards his pencil holder so they would fall in front of his desk.  I always bent over and picked them up.  I was so naïve, I had no clue what he was doing until I noticed him smirking and laughing to himself…as if he was so clever.  When I left his office he said, “Turn around.”  I asked, “Why?” He stated, “I want to use you as a fantasy for when I have sex with my wife.”  I was disgusted.  To save face he replied, “I’m just kidding girl!  Don’t you dare tell your mother about this.”

Soon after that incident, Terry’s wife kicked him out of their house.  Lord knows what for.  He was staying at the “Extended Stay” Hotel about a ½ mile down the street.  Early on a Friday night, he called my cell phone and stated that he needed some important papers delivered to him at his hotel.  I was the only one besides my mother that lived in town, so I was the only one that could do this for him.

I went back to work and retrieved the papers, drove to the hotel with the intention of leaving them at the front desk.  But he was waiting for me.  He motioned for me to come with him into his room so he could sit down to see if there was anything missing.  I was so upset and angry, but I couldn’t tell him no because he was my boss.  I was afraid.

We walked into his room and he immediately removed his shirt and sprawled out on the bed not even looking at the papers.  He asked me to sit with him on his bed.  I said no.  He literally begged me to cuddle with him because he was so lonely ever since his wife kicked him out.  I sat on the edge of the bed and couldn’t look him in the eye.  Then he asked me to give him a massage.  I thought, “Are you kidding me?”  Instead of being rude, I kindly told him no because he was my boss and it wasn’t a good idea.  He started crying.  I don’t know if they were crocodile tears in order to get me to stay, but the act didn’t work.  I said goodbye and left.

My employment changed on Monday when I came back into work.  The minute I walked through the front door, I was summoned to Terry’s office.  When I walked in, the Vice President of Operations was standing there.  Terry cut right to the chase, “Michelle, people are starting to get jealous of our working relationship, so you will no longer be working with me.  Don’t knock on my door, don’t come to me with any problems, just don’t.  “Tim” is your new supervisor and I am not.  You have problems, go to him.”

I was so thrilled I didn’t have to work with Terry anymore, but the phrase he used, “people are starting to get jealous…” really stuck in my head.  A few days later, my mom was “let go” for no apparent reason.  Maybe it was because Terry was scared that I would tell my mom what he was doing?  And who knows what their in-house attorney Catherine was saying.  Maybe she advised it?

I no longer worked on the projects that I had been slaving over.  I was given a desk in the back of the office with a partition in front of me.  I could see no one, and no one could see me.  I sat at my desk with absolutely nothing to do.  I had literally been stripped of everything I had worked for.

Soon after I was sent to a new location.  It was small room where everyone stored their junk along with one empty desk.  I was told that I had to keep the door shut at all times.  I was not allowed to prop the door open.  I was not allowed to converse with any of my co-workers.  When I did leave my office, I was shunned by every female employee, and snickered at by every male co-worker.  I was written up for situations where I did absolutely nothing wrong.  I had never been treated in such a negative manner.

My naivety had morphed into complete anger.  I went to see the woman in Human Resources wanting to explain what was going on.  It was completely humiliating.  Instead, she stared at me in disbelief.  She treated me as if I was a liar, or I was there to start trouble.  I thought talking to another woman would be easier; and she would be willing to help me by looking into the situation.  Instead, she shamed me and told me to get back to work.  Nothing was going to change.

I finally gathered up the courage to tell my mother everything that happened right under her nose while she was working for Terry.  She was livid.  This narcissistic creep fooled her, and no one fools my mom.  She has an excellent judgment of character.  She felt guilty for even suggesting me to come and work for these degenerates in the first place.

I decided to contact a female attorney who specialized in sexual harassment.  I was so disappointed.  She told me that if I went through and filed suit, it would be my word against Terry’s.  They had large amount of funds to hire the best attorneys, while I had no money.  She said that they would dig into my personal life and sexual history, just like a rape victim.  She discouraged me from doing anything.  I don’t know if anything she said was true, but it seemed as if not even she believed me.  She treated me condescendingly.  Now I was really mad.

As soon as I ended that conversation, I made it my mission to find a new job as soon as possible and quit.  I was very fortunate.  I confided my story to an attorney friend of mine.  I think he felt sorry for me when he made a position available in his law office so I could get out of this venomous situation.  For that, I am forever indebted to him.

Once I gave my notice I had my chance to give H.R. my final thoughts.  I wrote in detail what I endured during my tenure at this company.  I was not nice.  I did not mince words.  I was belligerent.  I wanted to make sure this was looked at not just by H.R., but Terry, my other supervisors, and Catherine, the in-house attorney.  Then I unleashed all my negative emotions to the woman running H.R., the same person I came to for help in the past.  All my professionalism flew out the door.  I knew I was leaving, so I didn’t care.  I didn’t hold back with this woman.  I walked out of that office with a load off my shoulders.  I was so proud of myself that I said what I said and did what I did.  I owed them nothing.  I took my box of belongings and walked out of the door for good. 

It was the most freeing moment of my life.

Twitter and Facebook “TMI”—Watch What you Write!

By Michelle Simonsen

CONSIDER IT--IT'S POSSIBLE
 

If you are a Twitter or Facebook user, most of us are guilty of this.
 

TMI. Too much information.
 

“Hey all! I’m going to Chicago this weekend!” 

“I’m off to a party!” 

“Going on vacation for a week!” 

We innocently tell our “friends” what we are doing and where we are going constantly. Our society is at an all-time high with the insurmountable and overwhelming abundance of “information overload”. 

You are thinking, “It’s not a big deal….these are my ‘friends’, right?” 

I challenge you to look closely at your entire friend list on Twitter or Facebook. Sure, you’ve got your real “friends and family”, but I’d be willing to bet you have people listed as “friends” you barely know, are slight acquaintances with, or maybe just “internet friends” you “think” you know, but in reality DON’T know. 

One internet site discussed this very topic and a commenter wrote:
 

“My best friends are people I've met online. Met one on WoW and have known him for 2 years, and the other…I've known him for nearly 5 years. I feel closer to both of these people than anybody I know…and I don't see that ever changing.”
 

http://wowriot.gameriot.com/blogs/Nobbehs-world/Internet-Friends-Real-Life-Friends
 

Be honest with yourself. Do you really KNOW these people? Is the innocent “twittering” and “facebook updates” of your personal information getting into the wrong hands?
 

What if? 

“I’m going to a party at 222 Walnut St. tonight!” 

Suppose someone on your “friend list” sees the information of your evening excursion? What if this information becomes the direct cause of an assault, rape, robbery or any other criminal victimization against you?
 

What if? 

“I’m headed to Hawaii for a week! Can’t wait!” 

What if that “friend” reads that you will be gone for an extended time; right down to the details of when you will be gone, and when you will return. Knowing your house or apartment will be empty is a criminal’s dream come true. It’s not hard to locate a person’s address online; thus you may have a potential burglary at hand. 

By giving too much “TMI”, this will only set you up for a potentially bad or harmful situation. If you feel it necessary to tell friends you will be out of town or what you are planning on doing or going, think about emailing them individually. 

“Twitter” and “Facebook” are not bad things.  Just look at how you use it, become aware, and act responsibly.  You’re smarter than that, right?

Once Upon A Time In Mexico: Victim's Rights In A Foreign Land

By Michelle Simonsen


Americans traveling outside of the country has always held some sort of inert danger, but in recent years it has become more apparent that no one is safe when on vacation, and justice is usually never likely when something bad happens. We tend to "let down our hair" and throw caution to the wind because all of the smiling foreign faces seem harmless and safe. We've all heard stories about vacationers being robbed, assaulted, even killed, yet it is still a popular belief that something like that would never happen to them. 


How can we forget the infamous case of 18-year-old Alabama native, Natalee Holloway, who went missing while on the island of Aruba in May 2005, while celebrating her high school graduation with her fellow classmates? Let's also not forget about 24-year-old Amy Bradley, who was last seen in March 1998, while vacationing with her family on the Royal Caribbean cruise ship after docking in Curacao, Netherland Antilles. Most recently, in April 2007, Phylicia Moore, an 18-year-old New Jersey native was with her high school class traveling to Ghana on a good-will mission when she was mysteriously found dead in her Ghana hotel pool. There were no witnesses, no clues, and no answers for her family.


When we leave our borders we are subject to the laws of the country we are staying in. For victims of crime, this can become a living nightmare due to lackadaisical laws, police corruption, blatant cover-ups, and the lack of proper resources.

Rebecca Sinnott, a married 40-year-old North Carolina mother, thought she had hit the jackpot when her 19-year-old niece, Ashley won a vacation of a lifetime - a five day trip to Cancun, Mexico.  Rebecca had never been out of the country, let alone on a plane. This was going to be the trip of her dreams - a trip to paradise. Little did she know it would turn out to be a rape in paradise.


When Ashley won the trip to Cancun, Rebecca thought it would only be natural for her to join her as a chaperone. Rebecca had raised Ashley and their family agreed it would be safer for Rebecca to accompany her, instead of Ashley taking a college friend. Rebecca would be the chaperone, the adult, the one in charge, and the one that made sure Ashley would be safe from harm. Little did she know, she would be the prey and not her naïve 20-year-old niece.

On May 6, 2007, Rebecca and Ashley flew towards their idyllic vacation spot of Cancun, Mexico, ready to take in the ocean air, the warm sun, and beauty. She was ready to relax and enjoy the opportunity for the vacation of a lifetime.


On their third night, Tuesday, May 8, 2007, Rebecca and Ashley decided to enjoy dinner and drinks on one of the many popular dinner/party cruises that Cancun offered. From approximately 7:00 p.m. until 11:30 p.m., they enjoyed their dinner, drinks, music, the beautiful boat, and the serenity of the ocean around them. The experience gave her a new vitality and when the cruise ended, Rebecca and Ashley decided to check out some of the night clubs that were near their hotel.


At approximately 3:00 a.m., on Wednesday, May 9, 2007, Rebecca and Ashley walked back to their hotel after an enjoyable evening. As they walked along the streets, breathing in the fresh and warm night air, they decided to stop at a convenience store that was next to their hotel. As they walked towards the store, two security guards befriended them. The guards, who identified themselves as Carlos and Javier, offered to accompany Rebecca and Ashley to a table in front of the store, where they could relax and chat. To Rebecca, Carlos and Javier seemed to be friendly locals, so they all chatted for the next hour, about how much they were enjoying their vacation, how lovely Cancun was and even exchanged stories about their families and children. 


Carlos explained that he and Javier were security guards for a nearby night club. Rebecca was not familiar with the club, so Carlos offered to show her the inside the closed club, telling her stories of how American bands such as Guns-n-Roses had previously played there.


At this time, Rebecca and Ashley mentioned that it was getting late and they were going to leave.  Ashley told Rebecca to go ahead and look inside and said she would meet her in their room in a few minutes. They separated for what could have been the final time.


Rebecca recalls the next moments vividly.


"I remember going into the club and looking around with Carlos and up until this point, no warning, no hint, no flirting, no touching, nothing to make me think anything other than I had met a nice gentleman security guard in Cancun," Rebecca said. "After we came out of the club I remember saying 'thank you' and how nice it was to meet him, so when he offered to walk me to the hotel for my safety, I never thought anything of it. And when he said, 'Here, let's cut through the club, it comes out in the back of the lobby,' I never doubted him. Once inside the club, we walked down a hallway and when I was in the back of the club, I remember coming to a locked door and asking him to unlock it."


Rebecca continues her story.

"I remember him saying, 'Give me what I want and I'll take you where you want to go!' I remember him wailing on my head with his fist and saying 'American Tourista' and 'you know you want it'. At one point, I could clearly see his face standing in the doorway and he was smiling at me, while he backhanded me across the face and knocked me to the floor. I remember him tearing at my top; I remember pushing him and saying, 'NO!  Don't do this!'  I remember grabbing his genitals and how his jeans tore at my fingernails as I tried desperately to hurt him enough to get him off me. I remember his face and his rage and his right hand coming at me and knocking me into a wall. Then I remember telling myself to lay still and act like I'm dead and maybe he'll go away. I remember the colors of the walls; I remember the blood, so much blood."


The next thing Rebecca remembers is being in her hotel lobby and seeing her niece screaming and passing out at the sight of the blood and her appalling injuries. Rebecca started screaming, "Go get Carlos!  He did this! Ashley knows where he is! Tell them! Go get him! Help me!" Little did Rebecca know, through her swollen and bloody face all they could make out were moans.


The next 24 hours were a blur for Rebecca. Ashley recollects no one being able to speak English except for the ambulance driver, who quickly asked her, "How much money do you have?" as her Aunt laid on the ground screaming and bleeding profusely. A credit card was her only ticket to the hospital, where they immediately did a rape kit, and started prepping her for an operation on her battered and broken body. She remembers speaking to her crying husband on the phone, who was screaming, "Get out of there before they kill you! Get out of Mexico! Just come home no matter what! They are going to kill you! Don't trust anyone, come home!"

With those words, from her husband of 20 years, Rebecca got up, signed some paperwork that she couldn't see, let alone read, and her hotel concierge immediately put her in a wheelchair and told her he would get her on a flight home back to the states right away.

As soon as Rebecca was back in North Carolina, she was rushed to a hospital, where she learned the extent of her injuries. She had lost three teeth, both of her eye sockets and cheek bones were broken, her nose was broken and she had several broken ribs. When the doctors were finished, she was also left with over a dozen stitches, both inside and outside of her mouth, and another dozen around her left eye.

"By all rights my face should have caved in from the pressure on the plane and why it did not is a mystery," Rebecca said, adding, "I was in a hell of a shape, but I was ALIVE."

Since the alleged incident, Rebecca's life has never been the same. It has caused her to develop severe depression and post traumatic stress, for which she had to start taking medication and seek intense therapy. Due to the depression and stress, Rebecca lost her job because she could not perform her duties the way she used to.


Rebecca vowed to herself, and to countless other victims, that Mexico would not forget her name. She began to speak to anyone who would listen to her story - lawyers, politicians, the media, and the Mexican authorities.


In August 2007, North Carolina Senator Elizabeth Dole referred Rebecca's case to the U.S. Department of State and they sent her a letter stating that the U.S. Consular Agency in Cancun inquired with local police on her behalf and learned that a suspect had not been apprehended in connection with her case; however her case remains open.


Rebecca has become a crusader and continues to fight her case with the Mexican authorities and has no intention of giving up the hunt for her rapist and those who helped cover it up.