A “Superhero of Love” kicks ass
in the world of love. She has a knack
for loving herself and others, and has that extra boost of inner strength from being
connected to the source of all love.
I consider myself a Superhero of
Love in constant training. Recently, everything
in my Superhero of Love world got twisted up: I got my ass kicked by the cable
guy.
I was switching from DirecTV to
Time Warner so a technician had to come to my house. I was told he would call 30 minutes before
arriving to let me know he was on the way.
Instead, I looked up when my dogs started madly barking to see a man
peering through the window in my kitchen door.
I was in the middle of working and wasn’t keen on this instantly creepy
surprise.
I ushered him in and walked
briskly toward the TV/cable box. He
walked slowly behind me – practically meandering -- looking around my house,
into my bedroom, etc. I got right to business. I told him where all the outdoor
cable locations were and motioned to my desk telling him I would be working but
available for any questions.
He sat down on the couch like he
lived here, and chatted casually about life. I just wanted to get away from him. He sensed this and said he’d need to check
the phone and internet cables, which he had seen were under my desk. I told them there were no issues there but he
insisted. He took advantage of my
needing to wait for him to ask me questions about myself. I gave curt but friendly answers hoping to
speed things along.
The phone rang and I said I had
to get it. He replied “Take your time,
baby.”
Yep, he called me “baby.”
He ended up calling me baby over
the course of his time at my house three times.
And I said nothing each and every time.
He then went outside to check
cables and dealt with a wasp nest. He
came back in and asked to wash his hands. I motioned to the kitchen sink and saw
that the blender was in it. I hesitated but said he could use the
bathroom. I quickly cleaned the blender
and then noticed he was taking an inordinate amount of time to clean his
hands. He was in there several more minutes
in silence.
He finally came out and then went
back outside for another round with the cables and wasps. A short while later he asked to use the
“restroom” and I told him the sink was now clear. He said he needed to use the restroom. He went into the bathroom for several
minutes and didn’t flush the toilet or turn on the water this time. I stood silent several feet away listening to
try to figure out what he was doing.
He finally came back out and sat
back down on the couch, hooked up the box and said as if he was about to start
watching a really great movie, “OK, let’s see if there’s any porn in
here.” I exclaimed “Whaaaaaaaaat?!” He replied that sometimes the cable boxes
have porn left on them. I said “Well get
it off if it’s there.” He said “Well the
last lady it happened to, I told her I’d take it off but she said she’d take it
off later herself.” He gave me a knowing
look. I made it clear I didn’t want it
on there.
After everything was connected
and he was waiting for the box to connect he mentioned porn again. I walked away from him and said “I don’t have
time for that crap.” He replied “EVERYONE
has time for PORN!” as if it were the tag line for a new game show.
A few minutes later he left,
handing me his card with his personal cell number handwritten on it, warning, “But
don’t tell your husband I gave you my card.
He’d be mad.”
I shut the door. My one act of defiance during the entire
incident was shutting the door without responding to his final fishing
expedition.
Superhero, my ass!
After two weeks of trying to
report this to his supervisor – who closed the complaint without ever speaking
to me -- I finally reached someone in the security division of Time Warner. The investigator spoke to the technician who
admitted to sitting on my couch, going to the bathroom twice, and giving me his
card. After that interview was completed, I was
informed by the investigator that my claim was “unsubstantiated.” I felt like I had been kicked in the
stomach. I noted that I would have had
to have a camera running the entire time to have this documented. He sheepishly admitted this was true. He assured me a file was opened, and that the
allegations were taken seriously. I was
dumbfounded that this was the first file opened for this guy. He had his routine down.
But I had my routine down too:
Miss Nicey Nice.
When the investigator first
interviewed me about all the details of this incident, he asked “Did you tell
him to not call you ‘baby’?” I paused,
ashamed that I hadn’t, and replied that I was trying to keep the peace and just
have him get the job done and get out of there as soon as possible. It’s what I do: make nice even when someone
is being wildly inappropriate with me.
There is no excuse for my
allowing him to call me “baby” three times, mention porn another three times,
and generally stomp all over my boundaries.
Clearly I dropped my cape and
mask somewhere. It’s time to find them. I’m going to get myself to a self-defense
class because I want to get more intimately in touch with my
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” which is a tool every Superhero of Love must also have. Sometimes to truly love ourselves, we have to
be kick-ass boundary-building bitches.
