I like to think that I’m a pretty nice person – too nice of a person? — so bitch isn’t a word that I am entirely used to being called. And even though the reason for the comment was completely ridiculous it still hurt. After he left I wrote down his exact wording in Evernote. I wanted to remember this.

—

The seating at Brekka Bakery is a little bit sporadic. It was a Saturday afternoon. I had about two hours before my singing lesson, and the cafe was packed. I was lucky to find a seat near the wall, but not exactly at the wall. I got to work. About 40 minutes in my battery started to die. I still had so much to do!

I glanced up from my computer. No one seemed like they had any intention of moving. There was one plug near me, but the two guys by the wall were using it for their own computers. I closed my laptop and took out a scrap piece of paper. I started to jot down some notes – a rough to-do list.

A girl sitting at the table next to me asked if she could plug her computer in. “Oh yeah! My computer’s all charged,”said one of the guys. Why hadn’t I asked? I returned to my scrap paper. Finally the guy closest to me started to pack up his things. I jumped up, smiled sweetly and carefully squeezed between the two tables to plug in my laptop.

I’d only been working for about 15 minutes when I heard a grumbling sound behind me. The guy who was there before had left and in his place was sitting a larger gentleman. His friend came and sat down next to him. “Careful of the cord,” he said “I almost tripped on it and broke my neck.” I looked back startled. “Yes, I’m talking to you,” he said. I jumped up. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. Embarrassed. I was already starting to beat myself up. That was stupid of me, I thought.

The man continued to act nastily towards me as I excused myself to unplug my computer and get the cord out of the way.

I was just putting my cord back in my bag when his partner, apparently embarrassed, got up and left. The other guy gathered up his things, visibly getting angrier. “Thanks for causing a rift bitch,” he spat at me as he ran after his partner. I was stunned. A guy nearby saw the whole thing and we locked eyes. “What just happened?” He laughed. I breathed out, glad that someone else had seen it too and agreed with my initial thought: That was ridiculous, right?

Still, I felt shaken. Why hadn’t I been able to defend myself? I’d just stood there like a scared little girl and let him insult me. Where was my self-respect? I opened my computer and tried to refocus on my work, but I felt overwhelmed by smallness.

I’ve put so much effort into being the good girl – in doing nothing that could potentially result in criticism or dislike.

I have put so much effort in being just irrelevant enough that other’s don’t really think about me, or consider me as any sort of threat. After this interaction, one thought shot through my mind: What’s the point in being the good girl? What’s the fucking point?

I realized, in that moment, that I simply would never be able to get to where I wanted to in life if I didn’t start taking social risks: fighting for myself and my beliefs, putting out creative work, standing my ground and being that person that other’s can’t so easily fuck with. I’m tired of being patted on the back for appearing confident. I’m tired of feeling like an inconvenience or in the way. I’m tired of apologizing for the space that I take up. Yes, I should have been more conscious of where my cord was, but fuck it!

I made a mistake. We all make mistakes sometimes. I’m tired of carefully living my life. I want to be that person who just fucking lives it.