My Bitch gene developed early. When I was twelve and still a Bitch In
Training, a middle-aged man in a trench coat decided to show me his most
prized possession in the Art and Music room of the public library in my
hometown. He was such a stereotype, with his filthy coat and fake pant
legs tied above his knees. He flung his coat wide open, and I laughed
and said "Looks like a penis, only smaller." As I walked away, I
realized that growing up with three older brothers inures you to all
kinds of male malfeasance.
Bitches don't mollycoddle losers, and I have no patience whatsoever for
people suffering from self-inflicted wounds. There are true victims out
there that need and deserve help. But when I hear some bimbo, who spent
far more time on her hair and makeup than on getting an education and
developing a personality, going on and on about how her job sucks, her
boyfriend is a loser, her life is a disaster, blah blah blah ad nauseum,
I feel compelled to speak up. I impertinently point out that the fifty
consecutive stupid choices she made that culminated in the clusterfuck
she calls her life can be blamed on no one but her. And, well, if things
are consistently turning out wrong, what one element (hint: it's a
person) do all those star-crossed events have in common? The dialogue
(okay, now it's a monologue because she's having a whole lot of trouble
conjuring up a witty rejoinder) goes something like this. "It's not
rocket science. Hate your job? Find another one. Not qualified for
anything? Go back to school. All your boyfriends are losers? Hey, you
keep picking them that way. Just stop. See how easy THAT is to fix?"
While this technique might not endear me to people who honestly believe
everything is someone else's fault, it certainly makes ME feel better.
I had plenty of opportunities to hone my bitchiness in college. Many of
the professors in the mechanical engineering department were equal
opportunity assholes. They were jerks to everyone, regardless of gender,
religion, or national origin. One day my thermodynamics class elected me
to ask our professor why he had given every lab group in the class a C
on their report. I inquired of the Prof. what, specifically, could be
improved in my group's report. He responded, "I don't know. It just
doesn't feel right." "What do you mean, it doesn't feel right?!" I
retorted angrily. "It's a lab report, for Christ's sake, not a blow
job!" Did this inspire him to offer to become my mentor? No, but he
wasn't going to do that anyway. He did, however, raise our grade to the
A it should have been to begin with, once I pointed out that he was
being arbitrary and a bit silly.
Bitch also means being proactive, not waiting for problems to solve
themselves. At one point in my career, when I was selling modular I/O
solutions for process automation, my manager left the company and I
ended up reporting to someone that I charitably dubbed "Stupid". He
earned this apt moniker by making it clear that neither I, nor any other
woman, belonged on "his" technical sales team. Keeping my mouth shut and
putting up with Stupid was not an option. I also decided against having
a hissy fit, quitting in disgust, and filing a lawsuit. What I did do
was much more effective. I signed on with the competition and took all
my customers with me, thoroughly kicking the old company's ass and
getting a big fat raise in the bargain. Again, no "Miss Congeniality"
award, but I got my point across and advanced my career all in one well
executed move.
In conclusion, I long ago realized that if everybody likes you, you're
really not even close to maximizing your true Heartless Bitch potential.
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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