Today I’m thrilled to bring you a guest post by the delightful The Naked Redhead. She, like me, is a woman on a mission: to complete her 31 by 31 list, which has already seen her pole-dancing, ripping hair out of her hoohaw and getting her feet nibbled by fish — just for starters! And everything she does, she serves up with feist and a big ol’ dose of foxiness. Prepare to fall in love.
NTKOG: Who “tells it like it is” to strangers like Erin Brockovich, advocating for herself and her friends like a lady knight in shining armor.
I am: somewhat reserved and quiet around people I don’t know well
I am not: opposed to pretending things didn’t actually happen so that I don’t have to be confrontational.
The Scene: Middle-of-the-day baseball game, sponsored by work. I was fast approaching my 30th birthday, and had recently decided that I wouldn’t “put up with crap” anymore, whatever that meant. I was soon to find out.
A co-worker and I were standing in line to buy food. The stadium we were at happens to have booths that sell decent-tasting stuff (unlike baseball hotdogs, which, let’s face it, are freaking delicious, but in an awesomely bad way) so we waited patiently to get our hands on our very own grilled chicken quesadillas.
My quesadilla comes up, and I move to stand out of line while my co-worker waits for her food. And waits. And waits. Just when it seems like the wait can’t get any longer, a very large gentleman begins sidling his way in front of my co-worker…basically crowding her personal space so much that she has to step back or be forced to grab his huge ass. My co-worker is a tiny lady, and the look on her face at this encroachment was enough to start to really make me mad.
Well then … then he does it. A chicken quesadilla is laid on the counter, and he just TAKES IT. THE BASTARD. Then he starts to walk away.
“EXCUSE ME,” I say, jabbing him hard in the shoulder with my pointer finger, “She was waiting before you. That’s her food. It’s not yours.”
Giant Dude just looks at me, and I see his look and raise him a death stare. My co-worker stands gape-mouthed for a minute and then says—perhaps thinking I was going to try to TAKE this em-effer—“Oh no, haha, it’s ok.”
And I say, “Are you SURE?” still staring down the Giant, my pointer finger raised for another jab.
“Yeah. Yes, I’m sure,” she says, smiling at the crazy lady with her crazy pointer finger.
At this point, Giant Dude scurries away with his quesadilla. I want to follow him, but my co-worker seems pretty mortified already, so I just send evil thoughts his way. (I hope he felt them boring right through the back of his thick, quesadilla-stealing skull. And I also hope that he burned his mouth on his food–BURNED IT BADLY–so that for the next fifty years, he can taste nothing but guilt and shame for stealing a tiny lady’s lunch.)
The Verdict: After that little incident, it’s like I can’t shut up to strangers. I’m not obnoxious, but now I’m okay with telling the line jumper at the grocery that, “Hey, she was waiting before you,” or letting that pervert who just tried to grab my ass know that, “No, I don’t know you, and you need to Back. Off. Do not touch me.” (Actually, that’s kind of the best. I freakin’ LOVE doing that.) It’s liberating to know that hey, maybe standing up for myself or my friends won’t result in a party, but at least I did the right thing. And that’s good stuff.
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
Nice. There is nothing I love more than yelling at a stranger who’s acting like a douche. I know this is like my mantra, but no one knows how nice it feels until you finally start doing it.
TOTALLY. I feel all…advocate-y and stuff! Thanks for reading! :)
The real win comes when the douche acts on your call. Trust me on this.
And the mega-win when you can call them, but do it so politely yet firmly that people watching will swear that you never uttered a rude word, and the douche shrivelled up in front of their eyes.
YES…that’s sort of a little hobby of mine…the old “nice but feisty” routine. I had to do that to my old landlord recently. I wrote him a VERY firm letter in an incredibly nice tone. He groveled…literally. Of course, REALLY nice people won’t let douche-y people grovel…much. :)
I learnt that one from my grandfather. I’m not as good at it as I’d like, but it is just so hugely effective…
And the mega-win when you can call them, but do it so politely yet firmly that people watching will swear that you never uttered a rude word, and the douche shrivelled up in front of their eyes.
AMEN! Some years ago, Ann Richards was running against Clayton Williams for governor of Texas. At a televised debate, she offered her hand. Williams refused to shake her hand, turned and walked away.
Ms. Richards turned to her friend and said, “That just cost him the election.” She was right.
I’m finding that grown people need more parenting than children. Good for you! Doesn’t sticking up for yourself and others feel ah-mazing? I recently started doing it too. I can tolerate a superhuman amount of bullshit, but I’ve reached my limit and I’m not afraid to tell dancing-up-on-me that another grope will cost him an eyeball. Last week was all about being the “fire that needed to be put out” who was telling my boss and HER boss how unethical and wrong they are for changing our sales goal on the last day of the month.
Congrats on your new muscles! Flex them hard!
UGH, they changed your sales goals on the last day of the month!? FOR SURE, get out that crazy pointer finger and point away. Wow.
Good for you! Rude people drive me nuts and get away with it. While we’re at it, how about the people that DON’T know how to say thank you when someone else holds open the door for them.
YES…or people that just push by you in the store without even a quiet “excuse me”?
And the ones who actively drop a door in your face even though they know you’re there.
How about the ones who stop and block a door or an aisle, as if they’re the only person (or 2) in the whole World?
I LOVE calling out people for jumping in line. I’m a total ahole like that…
Being an a-hole for good is awesome.
Ugh, I hate when people are rude like that. Good for you for calling the guy out, even if he did take the quesadilla. Which, yes, I do pronounce like Napoleon D’s grandma.
Oh geez, reading this just made my heart race and got me super nervous. I don’t think I could ever do something like that…unless i was drunk.
Red, dear, yesterday I was buying low sodium turkey for the yapping beastie dogs at the deli section of the local market. I was the lone customer.
The nice young man asked me to take a number. He next asked me if I was number 22. I then asked him “Are you retraining us?” Ah, yes, the old days are now gone and one must take a number.