I might as well end the week with another tale of assertiveness gone wild. 

Sophia has a cold, so I went to Whole Foods to buy some chicken soup.  It must be “Green” month at Whole Foods because at the check-out stand, there were numerous displays and posters about energy-saving and the environment.  Instead of the organic chocolate bars lined up as impulse buys as you wait, they had  energy-saving lightbulbs in green packages.   Gift cards were displayed that bought you “wind-powered” energy.   I’ll have to go back a second time to read how these cards work.  Do you fan yourself with them in the summer?

After serving myself the soup from their self-help soup vats in the deli department, I stood on line to pay.  There was a bearded man in front of me buying organic garbanzo beans.  The very pretty check-out girl rang him up, and then asked him, “Would you like to donate a dollar to the Whole Foods Rainforest Campaign?” (or something like that)

“Of course,” he answered.

His answer bugged me.  Why did he answer so quickly?  Does he even know what this campaign is about?  Is he assuming that just because Whole Foods is doing it, that it is worthy?  Shouldn’t he ask to see the literature first?  How much of the dollar actually goes to the rainforest?  Would he be so eager to give money if the girl wasn’t so pretty? 

“Thank you for you donation,” said the girl.  “Your dollar will save 230 acres of the Amazonian rainforest.” (or something like that)

S**t!  Why did she have to say that?  How can anyone — after hearing that — say no?  If I dare no, it is like I am personally destroying 230 acres of the essential rainforest. 

It was now my turn.  She rang up my chicken soup, then looked at me with her large green eyes.

“Would you like to… blah blah…” 

I didn’t need to hear the rest because I knew what she was saying.  I knew what she was thinking.

She was thinking, “Oh, here is a smart-looking man with glasses who surely knows about the problems with the rainforests of the world and must be pretty well-off if he is shopping at Whole Foods, so he would look like a real loser if he didn’t give a measly dollar as a donation.”

I was about to say, “Of course,” when my new assertiveness training took hold.  Why am I giving a dollar to this charity right now?  Do I really WANT to or am I being a pushover?  You know what?… I can be my own man.   Screw the rainforest.   Why not be a little selfish today?  I’m going to take that dollar and… buy myself a lottery ticket!

“I’m sorry.  Not today,” I told the check-out girl, referring to the donation.

“That’s fine,” she replied, her green eyes squinting at me with disappointment and seething hate.

Now, I realize that many of my readers are environmentally-conscious and believe that the rainforests are very important.  The world’s rainforests are currently disappearing at a rate of 6000 acres every hour (this is about 4000 football fields per hour).

Well, screw you too!  I’m gonna be a mega-millionaire on Saturday!

(editor’s note:  the author does love the rainforests and will donate 10% 8% of his mega-millions to charity)

Later today, I’ll be walking into therapy with my head held high.   Yesterday, I took an important step towards being assertive.   I spoke up for myself.  I stood my ground, despite the aggressiveness of my opponent.  

It all started when I entered my local coffee shop, a business named Hawaii Coffee or Aloha Coffee — I’m not entirely sure, because although the coffee shop has been opened for a year and a half, they still haven’t placed a sign outside.  Inside, the walls are brightly decorated with photos of surfers and real ukuleles, all there to remind you that the shop is Hawaiian-themed.  It is a decent-looking place, but they should have saved some of the money they spent on the kitschy ukuleles, and bought a sign instead.

The “Hawaiian” coffee shop have several different types of coffee, including their “famous” Hawaiian Kona coffee which, ironically, is their worst-tasting coffee.  But there are free re-fills and free wi-fi, so I can’t complain too much.

Usually the shop is empty when I come in, but today it was packed — with mothers and kids.  It was Martin Luther King Day, so the schools were closed, and all the mothers were schlepping their kids around as they did their shopping.  All the tables were already taken.  The only available seating was in the corner — two cushioned chairs with a large table in front.  An eleven year old boy was kneeling in front of the table, playing with a toy construction set, similar to the Erector Set I had when I was a boy.   There were dozens of metal pieces strewn all over the table.  His mother was seated elsewhere, gossiping with her friends.

I bought a cup of coffee and headed over to the chairs.

“Are you using this chair?” I asked the Kid, smiling at him.

“Yes,” he quickly answered. 

I made note that he was kneeling on the floor.

“How about this other chair?”  I asked.

“I need that chair, too.”

“Why’s that?”

“I need a lot of SPACE!” he announced.  He went back to playing with his metal, a Donald Trump in the making.  He smashed the pieces together as if he was building a Transformer.

“Screw it,” I said to myself, and decided to go outside.  I would drink my coffee while sitting on top of my car.  Then I stopped.  What the hell was I doing?  This was an eleven year old kid!  I retraced my steps back to the Kid.  I leaned down to face him.

“You’re not using these chairs right now, and you can’t use both of them, so I’m going to take one of them, OK?”

I probably shouldn’t have asked his permission because it just made him more adamant.

“I need the space!”

Let me remind you that during this entire exchange, his mother didn’t even look over once. 

“You can have your space,” I told the annoying Kid.  “But I’m going to take this empty chair and move it over HERE, so I can sit.”

“Fine!”

I slid the chair several feet away from the kid.   I sat and enjoyed my coffee.  The Kid went back to destroying his metallic city.  The mother kept on gabbing.  

I was proud of myself.  I didn’t back down against my young, but worthy, nemesis.

It was a moment to remember. 

Now, who’s going to take me on next?!

P.S. — THE INTERVIEWS:  I’m trying to come up with the best way to proceed with all the interviews you are doing.  I’ll probably create a list showing when each interview is completed.   That way it will be easy for you to check each other out.  I’ll constantly update it.  If you don’t hear from your interviewer by the end of the week, email me and I’ll make the person feel guilty.

I’m also thinking of putting a little link right on my sidebar, so if a new person comes and wants to be interviewed/interview later on, they can add their name to the list.   This way, the process can continue to go on indefinitely.   So, if you are still interested, just add your name to the comment section of the last post.  Who knows?  Maybe by next year, hundreds of bloggers will have interviewed each other in one big ongoing love fest.  You gotta dream! 

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   Why I Write

A few months before we got married, Sophia and I went to a dinner at at Chinese restaurant with a large group of people.  As we left the restaurant, the two of us had an odd conversation about one of the guests who took the last shrimp from the large banquet serving plate.

Sophia:  "If you wanted the last shrimp, why didn’t you take it?"

Me:  "There are three types of people.  Those who take the last shrimp on the plate, those who take the shrimp after asking, and those who never take it, even when offered." 

Sophia:  "And you’re the last one?"

Me:  "Exactly."

Sophia:  "If you wanted the shrimp, you should have just taken it."

Me:  "I know it sounds stupid.  I would feel too guilty.  It would be like everyone is looking at me and thinking I’m selfish."

Sophia:  "That’s ridiculous."

Me:  "I know.  I’m just like… my parents."

It’s something that always upset me about my parents, mostly because I’m the same way.  Always eager to help out, but too wimpy to take the last shrimp.

I’ve grown a lot more assertive in the past few years, mostly because I’ve seen how Sophia goes after what she wants, and rather than people hating her, they actually respect her.  Maybe that’s because she mostly uses her natural power to help others first.

Today, I still hesitate taking that last shrimp, but at least I might actually take it — once I ask everyone four or five times if they didn’t want it first.

Recently, I’ve been working on the Flash design and content of a online "Stress Management" course.  (You can see a sample here, under ABOUT — but remember, I’m still working on it).  One of the chapters is about "Assertiveness and Stress" and how a lack of assertiveness can add to a person’s anxiety.  One of the most common problems with non-assertive people is their inability to say "No" to people. 

For an interesting perspective on this, read Megan’s post about how she’s finally learning to say "No" to her co-workers’ constant asking for help. 

I thought of the importance of assertiveness while watching the aftermath of the Katrina disaster.   I asked myself, how would I act if I were there?  Would I be heroic and help others?  Would I take off on my own?  Or would I go to the convention center and sit there for days, helplessly waiting for help to come?   I think we all saw what being helpless gets you.

One of the hard lessons of life is that you can’t always wait for someone to help you.   I know I’ve missed opportunities in my own life by assuming that things were going to come to me — like women and jobs.  Sometimes I wonder how I even had enough nerve to propose to Sophia (unless I’m remembering it wrong, Sophia, and you proposed to me?)

Lizriz wrote a post complaining about the lack of "balls" in men today.  They seem to have trouble asking women out and even paying for the bill on a date. 

I’ve mentioned before that Sophia and I had some problems because our basic natures went against the traditional gender roles.  She is the more assertive one, and vice versa.  We loved each other because of this, but we also fought about it constantly.  When it comes down to it, women still want a man who is "manly" and a man wants a woman who acts "womanly" — whatever that means.

Last week, Sophia and I went to an outdoor concert of Latin music.   During intermission, we bought some coffee.  There was a ledge along the wall where we put our styrofoam coffee cups down so we could add cream and sugar.   At the same time, a young girl was walking along the ledge, coming towards us.  Her mother, a well-dressed woman of about thirty-five, a Beverly Hills type, was holding her daughter’s hand, guiding her along.

Daughter:  "Coming through!  Coming through!"

I lifted up my cup so the girl could pass.  Sophia was in the middle of pouring creamer into her cup.

Sophia:  "One second."

Beverly Hills:  "She needs to come through.  There’s no stopping her."

Daughter:  "Coming through!  Coming through!"

Sophia:  "You’ll need to wait a second, I’m almost done." 

Beverly Hills:  "You don’t have to be rude to my daughter."

Sophia:  "I’m not being rude.  You’re being rude.  You can tell your daughter to wait a second."

Meanwhile, I was tensing up.  I hate conflict.  It’s the reason I don’t take that last shrimp.  It’s the reason when Tatyana and ACG were arguing about looting in one of my posts earlier this week, I threw in a sex joke just to defuse it.

Beverly Hills:  (to daughter)  "Let’s go.  "We don’t have to stay here and hear this." 

They left.

Five minutes later, Sophia and I were at our seats, drinking the coffee and waiting for the show to begin.  All of a sudden, I see the Beverly Hills Lady walking towards us.  I can feel my blood pressure rising.   I figured she was coming to say something to Sophia, but instead she stops in front of me.

Beverly Hills:  "You know… you really can do A LOT better."

My body went into overdrive.  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say.  I came up with a lame joke, making believe I misunderstood her. 

Me:  "You mean these seats?  I think they’re pretty good."

The woman took off.  Sophia turned to me.

Sophia:  "She just insulted me… in front of everyone.  Why didn’t you say something?"

Me:  "I did.  I said, "You mean these seats?"  I showed her how ridiculous she sounded."

Sophia:  "No, you didn’t.  You just wimped out."

Me:  "She’s the one who looks like an asshole if she had to come here and say that." 

Sophia:  "She mocked me.  Why don’t you say something to her?"

Me:  "Like what?"

Sophia:  "For one thing.  You can say the same thing about how you feel about rude spoiled children that you did on your own blog."

Me:  "Look, it’s too late.  I don’t even know where she is anymore."

Sophia:  "She’s over there.  About ten rows up, in the center."

Me:  "Aw, Sophia, it’s a big nothing.  I’m not going to make a big scene.  Forget it." 

Sophia:  "Wimp."

Me:  "I’m a lover, not a fighter."

Sophia glared at me.  If we were still together, it was a look that would mean there wouldn’t be ANY loving for this lover for a long time.   Since we were already separated, it just meant that she wouldn’t speak to me for two days.

OK, bloggers, I’m ready for the attacks on my manhood, especially after I told you how Sophia always comes to my rescue.  At least I now know what flowers to send all of you as apologies for you disappointment in me — from the information you gave me during the last post.   I can buy all the flowers at the same place I did for Sophia.