Am I an Entitled Woman Who Uses Male Weakness to Get Her Way or Is There No Other Choice?

This is a man’s world, but it would be nothing without a damsel in distress.

Yesterday I had to call the cops. And lie to them. Not about facts, but about my state of mind. I had to pretend to be a woman. Not a human being.

Because when facts are not enough, attitude will make the difference.

I’ll let you judge the situation for yourself.

I’m renovating an apartment. I have this cute little place on a quiet street lined with old Linden trees. It has a wonderful vibe, but an ugly dated interior.

Since summer is here I thought it would be the perfect moment to start some work on it: tear down a wall, paint, stuff like that. I found a team of contractors and got to work.

Well, sort of… because they weren’t even halfway into the project when they decided to screw me over and ask for 80% of the money when they had done 20% of the work.

When I said a firm no, and that they’ll get the money at the end of the project, they turned aggressive and started to threaten me.

That’s when I figured I was the perfect target for abusers. A single woman, who has no idea what the hell she’s doing, and can easily be intimidated.

However, only the first part of that is true. I have a degree in interior design. So I do know what I’m doing when it comes to renovating apartments. And I am not easily intimidated. On the contrary. I am easily angered.

The moment they started to threaten me to get money for work they didn’t do, or they’ll call the cops on me and get the money anyway, was the moment when I turned into a ball of fury.

Injustice and violence are huge triggers for me. Of course, they didn’t know that. They were counting on me being scared. As a single woman should be… They didn’t know that’s exactly where my power comes from.

Instead of backing down and trying to appease the situation, I escalated it. I called the cops myself.

However, I do live in a very traditional country, where ‘men are men’ and women shouldn’t be men. Or at least they shouldn’t be angry and empowered like a man.

I knew my anger would not sit well with them. So I decided to not be the rightfully angry customer who was getting screwed over by some asshole service provider who is turning the screws on them.

I switched over to being something that works on most men: the damsel in distress.

Half an hour later I had 2 hunky police officers at my disposal, ready to escort me to the apartment and take care of my every need.

And they were trying to take care of my every need indeed.

First, they took the contractors out of the apartment and made sure they’ll never bother me again.

Then, one of the officers asked me if I needed help with finishing the project and told me he has somebody who can help, is a good worker, and is somebody I can trust.

Later that day, when he got off work, he came over with that gentleman and the project is already continuing in my apartment.

By the looks of it, he kind of has a little thing for me, so I suppose he is also trying to take care of some other of my needs. But I’ll let that slide…

That’s a natural consequence of my actions. Or rather, of my attitude.

I played the damsel in distress role to a tee:

• My voice was shaky, and so were my hands.
• I was sad, much like a poor dog abandoned in the rain. I looked at them with big eyes that were begging for their help.
• And I bet it helped a lot that I wore something very feminine and only subtly revealing. A long dress, no cleavage, no leg showing, very demure, but… I forgot the bra.

So what was I to expect, right?

One of the first things that the officer told me was:

‘You’re renovating an apartment all by yourself? Don’t you have a man around to take care of that? A boyfriend or a husband? Don’t you know that when you deal with construction workers and mechanics they’re going to take you for a ride if you go as a woman?’

‘I thought we were in 2023 and I can do this on my own, officer’, I said turning my eyes to the floor and wringing my hands, like a child justifying a fault in judgment.

Silly me, what was I thinking, trying to get a contractor as a woman? Contractors don’t respect women! Mechanics don’t respect women! I wonder who does…

Next time, I should disguise myself with a fake beard and glasses, or at least drag some poor man with me and slap a boyfriend sticker on him. That should vouch for me being taken seriously.

Obviously, to get fair treatment you need to have a man around. Or even better, be a man.

As all these thoughts were rushing through my head, while my huge scared eyes were disguising my intense brain activity, the officer continued, in a soothing voice:

‘Please stop shaking and calm down. We’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll take care of you. I hate to see a woman suffer. You’ll see it’s going to be ok.’

Bingo, baby. Let’s go get them.

By now, you are either amused or disgusted by my story.

I am both.

Injustice is a huge trigger for me. I feel great that I got the chance to put some assholes in their place and show them not all women can be intimidated by empty threats and a thug attitude.

That part felt empowering.

The way I did it… not so much. I hate having to pretend I’m weak, not angry. I hate putting on the mask of a sobbing shaky almost fainting little girl when in fact I am an angry customer.

I am a human being in need of justice. Not a woman in need of protection.

I hate having to pretend I’m something else to appease fragile egos and tickle hero hard-ons.

But do I think it’s unfair? No. I think it’s fair and in many situations women’s only chance to get things done.

If this is a man’s world, tailored according to his needs and perspective, then my only peaceful chance of success as a non-man is to take those needs and perspectives and use them to my advantage.

I do it rarely, because it disgusts me. And I do believe it hurts women as a whole in the long run.

As a human being just trying to live your life, however, you’re not always thinking about the long run. You’re thinking about the long day ahead, a day when you just have to somehow make it work.

You’re trying to live your life, put one foot in front of the other, and renovate a goddamn apartment already.

And if that’s too much to ask, then I’ll just bat my eyelashes one more time. Maybe that will work.

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