Bitch

The word for today is BITCH, as in a female dog is a BITCH, or that woman is acting like a real BITCH. I'm not even going to get into the term bitchin'--bitchin' is way out of my league. Maybe when I'm 80 or 90 I'll be able to say bitchin' because then it'll just be so bitchin' to be a feisty old lady who doesn't give a rat's ass about what anybody thinks of her. (Obviously, I'm not there yet.)

I'm thinking about the word BITCH because I was a BITCH today. But first, I want to mention an actual BITCH in the neighborhood, my friend's new dog Sarah. Sarah is a seven-year-old cocker spaniel whom my friend rescued from the animal shelter a couple of weeks ago. The folks at the animal shelter said that Sarah was aggressive towards other dogs and could not be adopted out to a family who had a dog. My friend and her husband already have Charlie, also a cocker spaniel, so she brought Charlie to the animal shelter to meet Sarah and to prove to the animal shelter "officials" that Sarah and Charlie could get along. Charlie is the kind of dog who is scared of his own shadow; he is incredibly sweet and docile, not a threat to anyone or anything. He and Sarah did (and are still doing) just fine.

Sarah came home with Charlie and my friend. She accepted my dog Rosie into the pack. On the streets of southeast Evanston though, Sarah has something to say. She barks at joggers, cyclists, baby strollers and other dogs. My friend tries to distract her and is honing in on the best ways to break the barking habit. When Sarah barks, Charlie joins in, and sometimes Rosie does too. Sarah isn't used to all the interaction with other dogs and other people. When a new dog comes into Sarah's new turf, Sarah not only barks, she shakes and shivers, her body rattles, her heart races. The barking is the fight part of her fight or flight response. It didn't take long for my friend and I to realize that Sarah is just scared.

This evening I met my sister and my nieces for dinner at a local restaurant. One of my nieces has a birthday in February, the other at the end of March. Before I met them for dinner I stopped at a local store to pick up gift cards--I had about 10 minutes to spare and I'd still be able to get to the restaurant on time. And, since I have a well-deserved reputation for being late, I really wanted to get there on time.

No problem I thought as I walked into the store. I interrupted two employees talking at the customer service desk and asked if they still carried gift cards. Oh yes, over there, one of them said and pointed to the front of the store. I ran over, found the cards I wanted, and went to the cashier--five minutes to spare. The clerk rang me up, I swiped my card, transaction approved, but then the clerk told me, oh, one of the cards didn't activate, I'll have to ring it up again. I already had a receipt that said $50 (for the two gift cards) and the clerk rang up another receipt that said $25. Why do I have receipts for $75 when I only bought $50 worth of gift cards I asked her? One of them didn't activate, you weren't really charged, she tried to tell me. If I wasn't charged why do I have two receipts that show my credit card is charged both times? I was an impatient customer with an attitude. The clerk really didn't know what she was doing. She brought me back to the customer service desk--no more time to spare.

I don't mean to complain, I said to the customer service representative (of course I did), but that cashier doesn't know what she's doing. The customer service rep. read through the two different receipts with three different gift card numbers as though he were translating them from Greek. Well at least he was being careful. If I had long, manicured nails I would have been tapping them. If I had chewing gum I would have been cracking it. If I had fangs I would have been showing them. If I had claws I would have been scratching something or someone. But all I had was a bad attitude. I could almost smell the nastiness exuding out of my body. I just want to pay for two gift cards, I said curtly, two gift cards that work, can't you just void out the other transaction and start over so we can do that? According to the store clock, I was now three minutes late for dinner....

The customer service rep. did finally correct the transaction. The original clerk disappeared into the land of shameful mistakes. I strode out to my car, dumped everything out of my purse, and called my sister from my cell phone, ready to blame my tardiness on the ineptitude of the store employees. My oldest niece answered the phone. Are you there already, I asked? Oh no, we'll be there in about five minutes, she said. Me too, I told her. I pulled into the parking lot just as my sister and my nieces crossed the street to enter the restaurant. I waved to them, smiling and friendly. I'd already left my angry BITCH behind. I hadn't kept my sister and my nieces waiting; I hadn't screwed up; I hadn't disappointed anyone or done anything wrong;--except be a BITCH because I was scared of doing any one of those things I just mentioned yet another time.