Another Battle

Little things irritate me.

For example, every time I get in my car, the only other person getting into their car at the same time, is the car parked next to mine.

No big deal, you say. I used to think so. Problem is, it happens every time. I could head toward my car to leave the Rose Bowl, amid a sea of cars. The only other person also leaving at that moment, would be the car parked next to my car.

I used to try and ignore it. Now it makes me angry. I came out of the grocery store and the only other guy leaving was parked next to me. I wanted to pitch him over his BMW.

A dead relative who doesn’t like me must be causing this to happen. Haunting me. It’s my step-grandfather, Harry. After he died, I said out loud he was a bum who tried to rip my grandmother off.

That was a bit harsh. He was simply an opportunist.

I’m also not a big hugger. I went to a church where they ask you to hug someone you’ve never seen before. To me, this is a well-intentioned physical display of hypocrisy. I’m shopping for a new, non-hugging-denominational church.

My mother was walking her dog on a leash, and another dog, off the leash, charged and attacked my mother’s dog. This off-the-leash dog tore my mother’s dog a new rectal orifice, you might say. I mean, really beat and chewed the poor dog good until a man came running and pried them apart.

My mother’s dog survived, but couldn’t sit down for three days.

The attack dog’s owner, a woman, came and expressed sorrow for what had happened, wanted to hug my mother to make up for it.

My mother refused the hug. “Get away from me,” she said. “Your dog attacked mine. I’m not going to hug you.”

Good for you, Mom! That woman was a yuppie, trying to use hugging to expunge the guilt of irresponsibility.

I also like to—-insist really—-on walking alone through the door at crowded public places. I can’t stand being part of a herd of hyenas, crowded, trampled or jostled by others when entering an establishment.

I assert my individuality.

I approached the door to my bank. An elderly woman was leaving. I stopped short and looked down at a piece of paper, pretending I was reading it. In reality, I was waiting for her to clear out, so I could use the door—-alone.

She was just as determined to psychologically crush my intended show of independence, and stood there for fully two minutes, holding the door open for me while I gazed down at the paper. “Are you coming in?” She finally asked, irritated.

I looked up and shook my head. She left.

I entered. Another battle won, in the daily contest of wills.


Leave a Reply