Is
it really possible that I could have developed a deep and abiding hatred for a
fellow Fairway shopper just because she parked her shopping cart in the middle
of the aisle so I couldn't pass?
You
see, I waited a little bit for her to notice me and move and maybe even say
“Sorry”. I then said, "Excuse me" and she gave me an annoyed look and
a dismissive hand gesture indicating that I could have gotten by if I had wanted but
what I really wanted was to make her feel bad.
So
I spent the rest of my shopping time angry and annoyed at her and at myself for
letting her get to me. I began to have fantasies of accidentally ramming her
cart, so I carefully avoided whatever aisle she was in.
This
is not the first time I have experienced aisle rage: the feeling of being in
the wrong because you don't want to wait until someone has blithely perused
seven types of tomato sauce while you just want to get to the pasta. They don't
even notice you are there until you say something and then they look all innocent
and betrayed.
So
I ended up feeling like one of those crabby impatient horn honkers at a traffic
light.
By
the way, did you ever notice that the one not moving is not the bad one. The
bad one is the person who asks him to move, who must be some kind impatient car
jock who thinks only of herself.
The
dawdlers holding up everyone are usually in some existential daze, looking at a
cute blonde or a bird or texting some vitally important message while the guy
behind waits and waits and then finally interrupts them by beeping. The idler
often looks irate, even makes an impolite hand gesture as he sails off, just making
it through the light that everyone else invariably misses.
A
soon as got home I called my daughter, Amy, to tell her the story and ask her
if she thought I was irrationally angry and probably turning into an old curmudgeon.
Amy
just sighed and said, “I know just what you mean.”
Words delightful to my ears.
“Mom,
I experience that all the time at my food co-op where everyone is supposed to
be so co-operative. No way. It’s everyone for himself or herself. Lookout. I’m
shopping here. I’m not in your way. You are in my way. You wouldn't believe how
testy everyone is. It’s dog eat dog.
And
speaking of dogs, do you know how many people don't pick up after their dogs?
Its really disgusting!”
“And
if you remind them Amy, then you are the bad guy, right?”
“Right.”
My
daughter. She understands.
I
felt a little better.
But
later that morning, I spoke with my son Tony and told him about my aisle rage
and do you know what he said?
“Oh
mom, they might be perfectly nice people in another context.”
“I
don't know them in any other context!” I spluttered, “I just know what they are
in supermarkets. Anyway, I hate it when you are so kind.”
“Mom,
here’s the thing,” he said. “Remember that visit to Cincinnati a couple of
years ago visiting our cousin? Sweetest kindest person I’ve ever met. Couldn't
do enough for us. Right? Drove us everywhere.”
“Yeah, of course. My niece is the best.”
“Do
you remember how she drove?“
“Oh
my gosh yes,” I responded, “I’ll never forget that terror. I couldn't believe
how fast she drove, weaving in and out of traffic, passing everything that
moved. Scared me to death!”
“Well,
Mom, ever since that visit, whenever some jerk tries to cut me off or passes on
the right at 90 miles an hour or tailgates me, I just say to myself, that’s not
a bad person. That could be my cousin.”
Words
to live by.
Or
not.
