I was just at the store and there was a dude there we’ve all seen a million times; just wearing a different jacket than the one you saw tonight. I noticed him when he raised his deep, booming voice. Otherwise he was just some 6’4″ behemoth taking his sweet fucking time asking about the prices of each and every brand of cigarettes. And only because it said, in tiny print, “discounted prices are for the purchase of 2 packs only.” That’s when he turned into a pissy little bitch. A pissy-bitch that was 6’4″.
“That is some sinister shit right there. If I didn’t have my glasses, and know a thing or two about the law, there’s no way I would have even seen that shit! That’s pretty much bullshit right there, you know,” he scolded the cashier with fully extended shame-finger wagging.
The poor cashier was being very sweet but I wanted to punch him in the back of the head.
Who fucking cares that the discount is only for 2 packs? Yes, it’s a bummer when you find out but then you sigh and move on. It’s not like this poor cashier had anything to do with it. It was AM/PM, not her own personal stash of cigs she was selling out of the trunk of her car. And sinister? That’s the other word for Advertising. You have to sell your soul then hold it down for the Devil to rape it before you even get hired in advertising. Everyone knows that and they move on, not whine and cry and hold me up from returning to my couch divot.
Of course, I could have just sucked it in and sympathized that this guy has some deep issue he’s going through and this may just be the last straw–-getting dicked around for another $6.50 by Madison Avenue minions. I could have. But I didn’t. I didn’t have to obsess over how lame he was/is. But I did.
Oh, did you think I was going to say something to the guy? Jesus, no. This is my life not superhero fan fiction.
I didn’t say shit. I wouldn’t have. I did, however, get all pissy myself, from a safe distance, yelled at a couple of slow cars on my way home, considered flipping off one of them, didn’t, cut off an elegant elderly couple walking their dog, snarled at them behind my tinted windows and, well, came back feeling quite righteous -despite, well, telling all of you- then patted myself on my back for my victorious decorum.
The difference between courage and misdirected rage is how big the other guy is, am I right?
I was told once that the best you can do is put positivity out there to counteract the negative. It’s probably true but there’s no fun in that. No, it takes two to make it worth the battle, and hopefully, the victory. Think about that the next time someone loses it mid-nic-fit in an AM/PM. The guy shaking and frothing in anger because he only has $12.50 and really needs that discounted smoke probably isn’t the guy whose soul is sitting on an ice-pack. It’s probably you.