The House of No

An essay about how getting bugged made me stand up for myself and find out what I have in common with Kathy Bates.

I got dragged into my 50s kicking and screaming. Turning 30 felt curious and 40 proved challenging, but the big Five-Oh kicked my ass. It was a good couple of years before I discovered an upside to this decade: I’m no longer afraid to say no.

Well into my adulthood, I would rather stick a fork in my eye than confront a store manager, business employee, or related individual. If I got screwed over by a company, I usually just took it. The idea of standing up to someone terrified me. Even if I worked up the nerve to return a defective product or call an 800 number to inform them they overcharged me or sent me the wrong product, I apologized at least twice. I worried that the person would not like me.

It wasn’t that I didn’t comprehend when someone wronged me. I just didn’t have the confidence or experience to hold up a figurative stop sign and speak my mind. 

I longed to feel the natural inclination for bravado that the Kathy Bates character had in the film Fried Green Tomatoes. In its most celebrated scene, Kathy waited patiently for a parking spot at a grocery store to open up, only to have it stolen from her by two 20-something women. When they got out of their car, Kathy timidly expressed her dismay at their action. “Face it, lady, we’re younger and faster,” quipped one of the women. They walked off laughing, leaving the Bates character to consider her options.

She decided to take action and rammed her car into the back of the young woman’s parked car multiple times, hooting and enjoying herself the entire time. When the women ran back yelling in shock, Kathy calmly explained, “Face it, girls, I’m older and I have more insurance.”

Now that I’m in my 50s (which, apparently, is non-negotiable), I finally found the freedom to push back. And not with reticence but rather with self-assurance. More importantly, I no longer care if my words or actions cause the person to view me negatively or trash-talk me to others. Even in this modern age, many women are still socialized from an embryonic state to acquiesce, especially to men. We’re told through a variety of social norms and messengers not to rock too many boats. Ladies are meant to smile and endure hardships good-naturedly. If we simply must speak up, we should admit we might be in error and employ the use of multiple apologies.

When I moved into my 50s, I also moved into The House of No. I’m not sorry, not anymore. I stand up for myself now in ways that used to intimidate the hell out of me. I don’t mean I go all “Karen” on someone (such a pretty name, I hope it falls out of favor as a colloquial insult soon). Recently, life has presented me with several opportunities to say no and do so without an apology in sight. The most recent one inspired me to celebrate my progress and document it in an essay.

This week, I booked an appointment for a pest control company to come out. The employee on the phone promised me an initial visit and monthly payments as part of a year’s contract. When the bug guy showed up, he spent 15 minutes trying the old bait-and-switch routine on me. Suddenly, my particular pest needs would require an additional one hundred dollars per month. I calmly countered his every effort at swindling me. 

The old me would’ve assumed he knew more than me and would’ve agreed to the higher fee. My self-talk would’ve zeroed in on finding an excuse not to be confrontational. A nasty habit left over from childhood. 

He had to come out here to see the issue, so this isn’t his fault. I’m frustrated and angry, but I don’t have the balls to show him the door and call his boss.

Finally, I grew weary of his mansplaining. I told him I no longer wanted pest control service from his company, he needed to leave, and I planned to call his office to find out why this appointment rode right off the rails. When I pushed back, suddenly the man could do the job for the original price. Through a nervous smile, he told me I didn’t need to call his office. “It’s just a big misunderstanding, I can start spraying now and everything is fine!”

No. Hell, no. I’m in my 50s, bug fucker. Take your spray canister and hit the road. 

The employee left and I immediately called his office. Fine, I ate a brownie first, but in my defense, it was fresh from the oven and dark chocolate soothes the soul.

Bottom line: I got a big apology from the guy’s manager, who told me what the employee said was completely wrong. The manager texted Mr. Bait-n-Switch while on the phone with me to inform him to show up in the manager’s office for a meeting first thing in the morning. The manager agreed to honor the original quote and said he would personally come out to my house to perform the service and guarantee the wrong-doer would never darken my doorway again. 

Does the bug guy who tried to manipulate me now think I’m a bitch? I remain both ignorant and apathetic on the subject; I don’t know and I don’t care. You lied, you mansplained, and you assumed you could get away with it. In all likelihood, my being a woman factored into your assumption. You failed to realize that while I may have been sitting in a chair at a table while we talked, I might as well have been behind the wheel of a car at the Winn Dixie.