I have been known to be a bit stubborn.
I won't shop at stores if I learn that they don't have a bathroom for customers. (Not only is this one practical, but I firmly believe that if you're willing to take someone's money, you should be willing to let them use your toilet as well.) I think gift certificates should not have an expiration date, and have had chats with many a manager over this. (They still have all your money, right?) And I do not share desserts unless the terms of the dessert sharing were agreed upon before said dessert was ordered.
While some people might see these habits as idiosyncrasies, or just kind of odd/difficult, I think it's my commitment to these rules that pushes me into the stubborn territory. No bathroom for customers? You really will never see me in your store again -- unless of course I hear a change in policy has occurred.
But, perhaps the best example of my stubborn streak is what happened in my computer class from the fifth through the seventh grade.
Once or twice a week, we had to go to something called computer class. (I've honestly tried to block this particular part of my elementary education out, so the details on time might be a bit off.) There wasn't much to the curriculum -- we did typing tutorials for 45 minutes. Each and every time. For three years.
We learned absolutely nothing else about computers, and the only incentive to complete the typing tutorials was that if you finished early, you could play computer games.
Now, it just so happened that computer class was taught by one of my least favorite teachers. I thought he was cocky, condescending and seemed far more interested in what the boys had to say than what the girls had to say. For this last reason alone, he was really at the bottom of my list.
When we started our typing tutorials, I found it incredibly boring to pick out "sad," "fad" and "dad" on the keyboard over and over again. Plus, we'd had a home computer since I was much younger (my mother is an engineer by training, after all), and I was used to using the complete keyboard all the time. I was one of the fastest two finger typists you'd ever seen. I'd finish my tests for the day in about 10 minutes and play games.
The problem, of course, was that my teacher could tell I was using the two-finger method rather than actually typing. So, he approached me one day.
"Laurel," he said, "you have to learn to type."
"I can type," I said.
"No, you have to type the new way," he said. "My way." (Like he'd invented it?!?!)
"Why?" I said. "I'm just as fast with my way."
"But you can't use your way forever," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because it's not how it's done."
That was hardly enough of an explanation for me, and I'm an explanations kind of gal. I needed to know how an egg was made at the age of four and nearly drove my mother crazy trying to find an adequate answer.
(Plus, my fifth grade self figured that I'd be a lawyer or actress with an assistant anyway, so why even bother with the mundane tasks like typing?)
The teacher then made me take higher and higher level tests. Each time, I earned what would have been A's with my two-finger method, and since we were only graded on our test skills, we were at a bit of standstill: I didn't like him, and he didn't like me.
So, for the next three years, I refused to learn how to type. I decided it was a skill that I wouldn't take up because I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking he had taught me anything.
That, my friends, is stubborn.
When I changed schools in the eighth grade and had a typing workshop with a lovely woman who smiled often and treated everyone with respect, I picked up real typing in a week and have never gone back.
In many ways, those were some very wasted three years (except for the computer games), and really mature people would probably have moved past the typing debate quickly and never thought of it again. These people probably are also good at letting go, don't stay angry and have really low blood pressures.
I have a lot to learn from these people. But, I also can't completely lie -- a big part of me still takes some pride in being able to say that that man never taught me a thing. And when this here blog really takes off (did I mention I can be stubborn and delusional?), he won't be getting any of the "thank yous" or credit.
Then again, this same approach could lead to me having a heart attack at 40, so he might get the last laugh after all.
*My metaphor here is clearly "stubborn as a mule." But this story might make me look like more of an ass. And then the only public domain picture I could find was of a donkey, so the animal metaphors here, or lack thereof, are all a mess now, and I apologize. Please mentally picture the four-legged creature of your choice to go along with this here post.
