Anger
May 31st, 2002There are two things that women discover about themselves in their thirties; one is their anger. At age 32, mine flows steadily like steam from a subway vent, but I have not tapped it entirely yet.
Years ago I gave Interland my credit card number so they could host an ill-conceived web site. Last month they charged that card $1,141.20, assuming that I wanted to continue the long-dead site on their new, exorbitantly priced hosting plan. Securing the refund was a two-day affair that climaxed when my account rep informed me that I had not "canceled the account soon enough to warrant a full refund."
I do not yell much. I am afraid to, really. When I have yelled, I have always withheld some part of it, sort of like the way I dance, arms a bit stiff, reluctant to submit to the experience.
But this time, I yelled at my rep with all my entire being, "You did not have my authorization to take my money, and I will not get off the phone until I have a full refund!"
And he gave it to me.