Once, in the Moscow airport, I sat down on the floor and cried for 15 minutes when the scary security guards tried to throw away a prized tub of cream cheese frosting on my way back to the Peace Corps–it was sort of the only way to communicate my anguish since I didn’t speak Russian. And eventually ze cream cheese was mine again and I rejoiced in this small, humiliating piece of eternal leverage that makes up for all the other things women have to deal with in the world.

So, medical bills: I’ve negotiated my way out of (truly) like $12,000 of false or should-not-have-come-to-me charges this year by keeping dogged contact records and paperwork, so you really can beat your way through the bureaucracy if you need to. But mostly I was dealing with concretely wrong things, like miscoded procedures or late insurance filings or a receptionist who wrote my name down as “Angel Tortelloni.” A few times, though, when the bill was correct but way too big for comfort, I’ve had some success being like, “Can you knock off 30% if I pay it as a lump sum,” etc.

I threaten to cancel my cable about every six months and they always give me a discount to stay.