'Be The Bitch'

"Ms. Johnson, what would you say if I told you that we can continue to deliver you the same great service at a fraction of the cost you now pay?"

"A fraction of the cost sounds nice, but I don't need it," I said, trying to wiggle out of the retail conundrum. "I really just want to close out my accounts with you."

"What can I do to convince you to reinvest your business in insert company name here?"

"Nothing, really. I'm sorry. I really am, but I just don't need a insert product/service name here anymore."

"Ms. Johnson, we here at insert company name here understand your frustration--"

Really?

"--And that's why we want to offer you the best possible solutions to make your money work for you, and to work toward your goals with a partner you can trust..."


A few weeks ago, when Mom moved out to the country and our joke of a cell phone provider tried to retain our business by trying to get her to purchase extra products and services to boost a non-existent signal, she handed me the phone. It felt as if she were giving me a free pass; a signal that clearly said 'Be The Bitch'.

Sure, I listened to the guy on the other end of the line, explained our predicament and told him we would not be investing any more money in the cell phone carrier. I ended the conversation sternly, making it clear there would be no further business transacted with the Johnson family. The relief that played across my mother's face made me feel good about being 'the bitch'.

It always surprises me, however, how hard it is to do.

I was on the phone today for nearly fifteen minutes trying to close out an account I no longer needed. I'm sure every customer-retention strategy was levied at me, and I understand that.

After all, I had to stand behind a counter and try to pitch credit cards to students who didn't know the first thing about overdraft fees, and try to persuade customers doing cash-advances on their credit cards to sit down with a personal banker to talk about applying for a line of credit they obviously couldn't swing. But at least I prided myself on stopping when I got the push-back.

I might have been pushing back against a brick wall today. And yet, my inner-bitch did not come to the surface. I did not struggle to bite my tongue. Strange that I can cop an attitude in completely unnecessary situations and still have a reputation among friends for being sweet all the time.

My family and my 'him' recognize that a little too much pushing and the bitch is there, dammit.

I'm not sure if I ever really paid attention to it before, but that 'inner bitch' is really the manifestation of my self-defense mechanism. It leaps to action when someone tries to take advantage of my family, but is strangely quiet when I'm being personally tormented by false authority figures (at least 'til a point). It overreacts, often savagely, at the slightest hint of pugilism from my 'him'. It is ugliest when it rushes to confront its arch-enemy, the acerbically-witted, forked-tongued inner bitch of the one with whom I share blood.

But in appropriate situations, when you need that little 'screw you, bub' injection to defend yourself, I tend to be a lamb about it. I understand now that fascination with those brazen women of the silver-screen, those take-charge broads who don't put up with anything. Each of us really could use a little more of that attitude in our lives, that 'don't you dare mess with me... or else' aura.

What really strikes me most, though, is that the only ones that will probably ever see my inner bitch are the people that deserve it the least.