LJ Idol X.6: Heel Turn, or Beware the BitchSwitch!
"I cried," she said over lunch today. "I cried because that girl called me a B - I - T - C - H."
Yes, she spelled it out, and her eyes did look alarmingly bright and wet. I cocked my head to the side, waiting to hear the awful part that I was sure was following. "And?"
"That's it," she said. "It was awful."
My face probably displayed my bemusement. "She called you a 'B' and you cried?"
"What would you do?" She sounded defensive now and I tried to recall the last time being called a bitch actually hurt my feelings.
"I don't know. From what you said, she deserved you calling her out for poor work. I probably would have laughed in her face and asked her so what?" I paused and thought for a minute. "Or, I might have asked if she'd really like to see what I'm like when I'm being a bitch."
"Bitches Get Shit Done."
That's been my motto for more than 20 years at this point and I've long been immune to heartache from that word. Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
Bitch. Once I embraced it, it fit really well. So, you know what they say about the shoe fitting, right?
*****
"Hey lady," the man approached me in the dark and rain at the gas station and I held my hand out.
"No," I said. "I don't have money, cigarettes or a soul up for grabs. Please don't come over here talking to me."
"Bitch." He literally spit on the ground in front of me and I felt a flash of anger.
"Would you like to find out how big of a bitch I actually am?" I half-shouted and he backed away quickly, clearly realizing he'd picked a fight with a crazy lady.
I wasn't upset that he called me a bitch. I was pissed as hell that he spit at me.
Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
*****
I sat in a small conference room with big windows on Friday last, waiting for the mediation to get started. I was surrounded by Good Ole Boys who were all relying on me to be the "voice of reason."
When the mediator came through the door with a demand that was $30,000 higher than the one I'd gotten two weeks before, I felt the calm and cool facade crumble. Everyone was looking at me to get my reaction, and, whoo boy, they were going to get it.
"That's a slap in the face," I snapped. "Explain to me right now why I shouldn't leave this room and go and file a motion with the court to get attorney's fees, when the only reason we're here is because we were ordered to appear in good faith?" Then I ripped the copy of the email I'd gotten two weeks before with the lower demand out of my file, wrote in large letters "BAD FAITH = ATTORNEY FEES" and sent it back with the mediator.
"I told them you wouldn't like it," he said as he left.
He came back twenty minutes later with a demand that was in line with the email and said that the other side seemed shocked that I was willing to walk away.
"That's because that jackhole has been bullying me for months and I've walked the thin professional line, but I'm not going to sit here and allow him to disregard the court order," I said to the mediator. I was still shaking a little bit, but I'd been mollified. My clients were grinning at me.
"Sorry about that..." I started, wondering if my suddenly explosive anger had been a bit too much.
"Nah," one of them said. "Sometimes you gotta be a bitch to get things done."
"That's what I think, too."
Yes, yes I am.
*****
"I'm sorry." I texted. "You can't talk to me like that. You can't treat me like that. Take some time and get your head on straight. Then come back to me and act like you're really my friend."
I cried for an hour after that text exchange, while my poor boyfriend held me in his arms and told me that I'd done the right thing. It's not easy to speak up for yourself, he said. I'm proud of you for having and guarding your boundaries, he said. I'm sorry, he said. It's okay, he said. I love you, he said.
Eventually, I calmed down.
"Do you regret that you texted that back?" he asked.
No. I don't. I didn't. I never will.
Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
*****
Bitch. It's boundaries and standing up for yourself. It's not letting people walk over you and not buying their butthurt when they realize you're not a doormat. It's holding firm to your sense of self-worth, whether it's a stranger, a work mate, a client, a friend. It's being nice until you're not given any options. It's knowing and toeing the line.
Bitch. It's not a bad thing. It's a way of life. It's putting yourself as a priority. It's not accepting less than you're worth. It's disregarding the meaningless drivel that spews from people's mouths. It's knowing that none of this makes you the bad guy, even when someone is taken by surprise at the sheer audacity you have in demanding to be treated well.
Bitches. May we know them. May we be them.
Because Bitches Get Shit Done.
Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
Are you?
This entry was written for therealljidol 10.6: “Heel Turn." There may be voting; if so, I will link to the poll.
Yes, she spelled it out, and her eyes did look alarmingly bright and wet. I cocked my head to the side, waiting to hear the awful part that I was sure was following. "And?"
"That's it," she said. "It was awful."
My face probably displayed my bemusement. "She called you a 'B' and you cried?"
"What would you do?" She sounded defensive now and I tried to recall the last time being called a bitch actually hurt my feelings.
"I don't know. From what you said, she deserved you calling her out for poor work. I probably would have laughed in her face and asked her so what?" I paused and thought for a minute. "Or, I might have asked if she'd really like to see what I'm like when I'm being a bitch."
"Bitches Get Shit Done."
That's been my motto for more than 20 years at this point and I've long been immune to heartache from that word. Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
Bitch. Once I embraced it, it fit really well. So, you know what they say about the shoe fitting, right?
*****
"Hey lady," the man approached me in the dark and rain at the gas station and I held my hand out.
"No," I said. "I don't have money, cigarettes or a soul up for grabs. Please don't come over here talking to me."
"Bitch." He literally spit on the ground in front of me and I felt a flash of anger.
"Would you like to find out how big of a bitch I actually am?" I half-shouted and he backed away quickly, clearly realizing he'd picked a fight with a crazy lady.
I wasn't upset that he called me a bitch. I was pissed as hell that he spit at me.
Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
*****
I sat in a small conference room with big windows on Friday last, waiting for the mediation to get started. I was surrounded by Good Ole Boys who were all relying on me to be the "voice of reason."
When the mediator came through the door with a demand that was $30,000 higher than the one I'd gotten two weeks before, I felt the calm and cool facade crumble. Everyone was looking at me to get my reaction, and, whoo boy, they were going to get it.
"That's a slap in the face," I snapped. "Explain to me right now why I shouldn't leave this room and go and file a motion with the court to get attorney's fees, when the only reason we're here is because we were ordered to appear in good faith?" Then I ripped the copy of the email I'd gotten two weeks before with the lower demand out of my file, wrote in large letters "BAD FAITH = ATTORNEY FEES" and sent it back with the mediator.
"I told them you wouldn't like it," he said as he left.
He came back twenty minutes later with a demand that was in line with the email and said that the other side seemed shocked that I was willing to walk away.
"That's because that jackhole has been bullying me for months and I've walked the thin professional line, but I'm not going to sit here and allow him to disregard the court order," I said to the mediator. I was still shaking a little bit, but I'd been mollified. My clients were grinning at me.
"Sorry about that..." I started, wondering if my suddenly explosive anger had been a bit too much.
"Nah," one of them said. "Sometimes you gotta be a bitch to get things done."
"That's what I think, too."
Yes, yes I am.
*****
"I'm sorry." I texted. "You can't talk to me like that. You can't treat me like that. Take some time and get your head on straight. Then come back to me and act like you're really my friend."
I cried for an hour after that text exchange, while my poor boyfriend held me in his arms and told me that I'd done the right thing. It's not easy to speak up for yourself, he said. I'm proud of you for having and guarding your boundaries, he said. I'm sorry, he said. It's okay, he said. I love you, he said.
Eventually, I calmed down.
"Do you regret that you texted that back?" he asked.
No. I don't. I didn't. I never will.
Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
*****
Bitch. It's boundaries and standing up for yourself. It's not letting people walk over you and not buying their butthurt when they realize you're not a doormat. It's holding firm to your sense of self-worth, whether it's a stranger, a work mate, a client, a friend. It's being nice until you're not given any options. It's knowing and toeing the line.
Bitch. It's not a bad thing. It's a way of life. It's putting yourself as a priority. It's not accepting less than you're worth. It's disregarding the meaningless drivel that spews from people's mouths. It's knowing that none of this makes you the bad guy, even when someone is taken by surprise at the sheer audacity you have in demanding to be treated well.
Bitches. May we know them. May we be them.
Because Bitches Get Shit Done.
Bitch.
Yes, yes I am.
Are you?
This entry was written for therealljidol 10.6: “Heel Turn." There may be voting; if so, I will link to the poll.