Free Trade Voters League

Last summer when my daughter was playing tee ball, we were told that there would be a picture day—without any further details. We soon realized that this lack of information and organization was, unfortunately, a common theme with the program we continually used for sports. We didn’t know that payment would be expected, nor how much it would be—and it was during a time of financial hardship for us. That said, she is our only child, and you know how hard it is to pass up photos of your kids! So we chanced to use our credit card, and it was subsequently denied.

Months later I had an unexpected bonus and called the company to see if they still had the photos on file; naturally, they did. I was very grateful that they allowed me to order a set then and there, and I was stoked that I’d get the photos after all. They told me to expect them in a week or less; a week went by, and when my husband called to check on them, they were not yet ready. No big deal; after all, I was lucky that they even still had the photos.

The next day we received a call that they were ready. My husband picked them up and brought them home, only for me to discover that in the team photo, my daughter was missing. In fact, her entire team was missing; I did not recognize one child. I called to report the mistake, and this was the response I received initially:

“Well, sometimes the kids don’t make it in the group photo for whatever reason. I noticed she wasn’t in the photo too, when I looked for her, but I figured she just missed the team photo.”

Um, no, I was there. Or do you not believe me because I’m a woman? “No, I don’t recognize a single face,” I insisted. “There were two girls on her team besides her, not three. There was an African-American boy; he’s not in the photo, either.” He then said he would check, and lo and behold, it was his mistake, not mine. The apology I was provided with—coming from a really amiable man who seems to love to talk, mind you—was curt, followed by a quick goodbye. He mailed us the photo later, and I’m glad we have it, but it only reminds me of every time I’ve been blamed, or insinuated to be crazy, or otherwise disrespected by a man in a business setting—from cable companies to my own dentist. It’s so bad that I often have my husband deal with such people just so I don’t have to experience such bulls***.

I am really nice when I deal with businesses—I worked in customer service for years and have a special voice just for such dealings, after all—and I have to wonder if that’s my problem. I have a sister and a friend who act like complete jerks with companies when they want something, but then they get what they want! All of my friends who act nicely like I do, however, continue to get stepped on. Perhaps men should stop calling us bitches since it’s because of them we have to act like one to get anything on this planet. Like my mother says, men who act like men are called, well, men, while women who act like men are called bitches.