Regret, Exploitation,and Consent - The Perils of Agreeableness

If being pushy and persistent were a crime, we'd be able to prosecute insurance salesmen, car dealers, and pharmacological substance pushers (otherwise known as doctors).

Seriously, if Asiz Ansari is guilty of anything, it's of being unfunny on stage and a stooge in the bedroom. (Although in his case I guess it was the kitchen.)

No, I don't have a vagina.

I realize that in the eyes of many, this makes me unfit to comment on what happened to a woman who just couldn't say no on a first date.

But my mother has a vagina, and I want to tell you about what happened to her. It has nothing to do with her vagina, but it has everything to do with saying no.

Both my mother and I are extremely agreeable people.

My grandmother was the same way. She spent most of her life with an abuser who ultimately killed her.

"Being nice" is hardwired into us. For God's sake, the caption on our family crest is "We mean well." I'm not kidding. I found the damn thing in a frame somewhere and I threw it away.

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, we're Satan's bricklayers.

I consider agreeableness to be my greatest weakness. I hate confrontation, and if someone is being "nice" to me it's almost impossible for me to say no to them. We're talking serious physical distress behind a polite smile and a mouth that'll say anything to ease the tension.

My mother. When her stepfather's health started to decline and it was finally time to put the man in a nursing home and work out what was to be done with his estate, the vultures started to circle. Lawyers, financial advisers, insurance salesmen. They'd ask if they could go over to her place and talk about her options. So of course she was ready for them with coffee in the pot and cookies on the table.

These people showed up in packs. The driveway looked like a luxury-car lot with Mercedes and BMWs. What a relief to finally get some advice from people who clearly knew what they were doing! White-collar professionals in nice clothing. It feels so nice to have powerful allies that it's easy to forget they're billing you by the hour.

Well, it ended up costing a ton of money, and later, other layers said she paid for services that aren't even legal to charge for (like helping to apply for Veteran's benefits). But what'cha gonna do? Pay a lawyer to sue a lawyer?

In the end, we made what I think were some good moves, and we were able to see that the man who killed my grandmother was able to decline comfortably in a nursing home at a cost that was a couple thousand dollars a month less than he otherwise would have.

The sharks couldn't leave it at that, though. It was time to think about my mother's future. This meant extended-care insurance policies. Which meant doctor's visits. Which meant minor conditions that had never mattered before suddenly being treated with new drugs, which meant new insurance policies for the prescriptions. Which meant that she's now on a daily regimen of pills, including pills to counteract the side effects of the other pills, that require their own carrying case to organize and keep straight.

Along the way I managed to insert myself into the process, go to some of these meetings, and say "no" here and there. (Man, this was hard.) The long-term care policy they proposed was meant to protect her house, but the premiums were so high, she'd be homeless before she could ever avail herself of the in-home care it was meant to provide. We talked them down to something that cost a fifth of the original quote, but for some reason we still weren't able to say "no" outright. Maybe we'll be glad she has it someday, but I can't help fuming every month when I think of her writing that check. It feels like a violation that never ends.

They got her to invest in a mutual fund that had a hefty one-time fee. It's been performing well enough since then, so I can't complain. But I hate the way they "check up" on her every few months to go over her portfolio and suggest changes. "I don't understand why I should put the money into something else if the fund they sold me in the first place was as great as they said," she told me.

"It's because they're not your friends, mom. They're not really coming over because they want to pet the dogs and eat your cookies. They only make money if they talk you into a transaction."

"I guess I didn't think about it like that," she said. "They're just so nice."

My mother's not comfortable talking business.

When these guys (most of them are women, actually) ask if she wants to make some financial move, she'll say "Well, I guess. If this is something I have to do." And then they'll smile and say, "You're doing the right thing."

That's not consent. That's finincial assault. These predators are not, in any way, being responsive to her "nonverbal cues."

For me, it's a lot more heartbreaking to think of these exploitations going on among our elderly then it is to ponder some girl who regrets a blowjob and claims that she's been through "the worst night in her life."

Both situations are regrettable. Both involve an abuse of power and authority over vulnerable, agreeable people.

Or maybe they don't. Because neither situation involved breaking the law. That girl sucked a dick and my mom signed some papers. My mother will have to take a dozen prescriptions and pay insurance companies for the rest of her life, and that girl will have to brush her teeth and process some regrets.

Maybe when she's older, she'll remember those regrets and understand that nonverbal cues aren't enough. Maybe she'll say no when the salesmen come calling.

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Thanks to @jessandthesea for sharing her courageous take on this whole Ansari bruhaha, and to @bucho for reminding me that being a devil's advocate is sometimes worth sticking your neck out. And by no means should my opinions expressed here be considered a reflection of theirs.