The Silent, Unconverted Type
The day after Thanksgiving, my mother and I woke up at an ungodly 5:45 am so that we could be at a local, privately owned, craft store when it opened at 6:00. I'd received an email from the place earlier in the week, touting all of the incredible specials and deals that they were going to be offering to the "early birds."
Picture me, with my faux fur Russian hat, husband's oversized work gloves, pretty red pea-coat, and snowman patterned pajama bottoms, jingling the little bell of this local establishment as I pushed through the plate glass doors. Picture the women behind the counter, a small flock of them, staring at me, then subtly (ha) elbowing each other and smirking as they uttered a forced, united: Good morning! Imagine, the continued stares and whispers of these women as I attempted to locate and enjoy Black Friday deals.
What the hell.
I felt awkward. And self conscious. And defiant. Consequently, I spent the next twenty minutes inspecting supplies, examining products, and struggling with the feeling that somehow, by not arriving impeccably made-up for a 6am sale in a strip mall, I was inadequate. Not good enough. And ultimately, unworthy. I refused to leave, but I couldn't shake off the discomfort of being in my own skin.
Which brings me to my topic--bullies--because you can just bet that if there had been only one woman behind the counter, a woman as bleary eyed and tired as I was, standing there in my snowman sleepwear, we would not have witnessed cackling or elbowing. After all, the image of a woman giggling by herself as she arranged sale flyers might have looked as nearly as silly as I did.
I hate a bully, and I hate the group mentality. I don't think that you need to have an audience to be a bully, but it certainly doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt to have a gaggle of groupies or admirers who laugh at what you say or nod their heads knowingly. The ironic thing is, the bully is looking for the same thing that they (and their cronies) are denying everyone else: validation and acceptance. They just seem to have more charisma than the rest of us do.
But really, what kind of validation and acceptance are we talking about, when it's contingent on the humiliation or subjugation of someone else? I had a college professor who collected the class's textbooks and shuffled them around, saying smugly, "I hope everyone had their names written in their books!"
HUHHH?
"By God," he then huffed, "I'll teach you people a lesson in responsiblity. See if you can find your own book!"
I still don't "get" how not having your name written in a personal textbook that was purchased, by you, for your own private use could make you irresponsible. I do "get," however, the cosmic, ego-gassed, power trip that this guy was taking during the entire exercise, and I'm tellin' ya, I feel kind of sorry for him. We all got through that class. We got to graduate.
He's stuck with his sorry self forever.
Here are the ways I generally deal with bullies:
1. I become even more defiant. Maybe I'll visit that craft shop again. Maybe I'll go mid-day. Wearing a negligee. And slippers.
2. I walk away. Because really, as shitty as they've made me feel, I am not privy to that dark, inadequate place that fuels the bully. And my worth as a person does not stem from making other people feel insignificant or unacceptable. That alone makes me feel superior.
3. I "do" something. I write a story about the experience (see "Beautiful, Like Gasoline In A Mud Puddle" on my homepage). I paint with my children. I make muffins or soup. I busy myself in my world, and ultimatly, tune out the bully's.
4. I swallow it. When no other choice seems viable, I sit and take it, reminding myself all the while of this John Morley quote: "You have not converted a man because you have silenced him." I sit and smile and nod and conjugate french verbs in my head, not hearing a damn word that the bully is saying. I vow to myself that, no matter how I've acted in the past, I will be try to be sensitive and compassionate to others. I will celebrate their snowman jammies instead of ridiculing them. I will appreciate individuality in a world of conformity. I will compliment before I insult and I will give second chances.
I may not be a confronter, but I'm not a pushover.
Let's hear it for the quietly unconverted.
Picture me, with my faux fur Russian hat, husband's oversized work gloves, pretty red pea-coat, and snowman patterned pajama bottoms, jingling the little bell of this local establishment as I pushed through the plate glass doors. Picture the women behind the counter, a small flock of them, staring at me, then subtly (ha) elbowing each other and smirking as they uttered a forced, united: Good morning! Imagine, the continued stares and whispers of these women as I attempted to locate and enjoy Black Friday deals.
What the hell.
I felt awkward. And self conscious. And defiant. Consequently, I spent the next twenty minutes inspecting supplies, examining products, and struggling with the feeling that somehow, by not arriving impeccably made-up for a 6am sale in a strip mall, I was inadequate. Not good enough. And ultimately, unworthy. I refused to leave, but I couldn't shake off the discomfort of being in my own skin.
Which brings me to my topic--bullies--because you can just bet that if there had been only one woman behind the counter, a woman as bleary eyed and tired as I was, standing there in my snowman sleepwear, we would not have witnessed cackling or elbowing. After all, the image of a woman giggling by herself as she arranged sale flyers might have looked as nearly as silly as I did.
I hate a bully, and I hate the group mentality. I don't think that you need to have an audience to be a bully, but it certainly doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt to have a gaggle of groupies or admirers who laugh at what you say or nod their heads knowingly. The ironic thing is, the bully is looking for the same thing that they (and their cronies) are denying everyone else: validation and acceptance. They just seem to have more charisma than the rest of us do.
But really, what kind of validation and acceptance are we talking about, when it's contingent on the humiliation or subjugation of someone else? I had a college professor who collected the class's textbooks and shuffled them around, saying smugly, "I hope everyone had their names written in their books!"
HUHHH?
"By God," he then huffed, "I'll teach you people a lesson in responsiblity. See if you can find your own book!"
I still don't "get" how not having your name written in a personal textbook that was purchased, by you, for your own private use could make you irresponsible. I do "get," however, the cosmic, ego-gassed, power trip that this guy was taking during the entire exercise, and I'm tellin' ya, I feel kind of sorry for him. We all got through that class. We got to graduate.
He's stuck with his sorry self forever.
Here are the ways I generally deal with bullies:
1. I become even more defiant. Maybe I'll visit that craft shop again. Maybe I'll go mid-day. Wearing a negligee. And slippers.
2. I walk away. Because really, as shitty as they've made me feel, I am not privy to that dark, inadequate place that fuels the bully. And my worth as a person does not stem from making other people feel insignificant or unacceptable. That alone makes me feel superior.
3. I "do" something. I write a story about the experience (see "Beautiful, Like Gasoline In A Mud Puddle" on my homepage). I paint with my children. I make muffins or soup. I busy myself in my world, and ultimatly, tune out the bully's.
4. I swallow it. When no other choice seems viable, I sit and take it, reminding myself all the while of this John Morley quote: "You have not converted a man because you have silenced him." I sit and smile and nod and conjugate french verbs in my head, not hearing a damn word that the bully is saying. I vow to myself that, no matter how I've acted in the past, I will be try to be sensitive and compassionate to others. I will celebrate their snowman jammies instead of ridiculing them. I will appreciate individuality in a world of conformity. I will compliment before I insult and I will give second chances.
I may not be a confronter, but I'm not a pushover.
Let's hear it for the quietly unconverted.
posted by Cate at 12:16 PM
2 Comments:
I hate those women! I'm sorry that happened and I agree that it's usually a group mentality thing.
Hi Michelle,
Yeah, I hate them, too. But I'll go back to the store because I'm willing to whore out my integrity for crafts :)
Hope you're having a good week!
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