I try to be polite.
I know that's hard to believe coming from me, but I really
do try. I'm not a noisy neighbor, I
don't huck lit butts out the windows of moving vehicles, I don't spit on the
sidewalk, I know how to wait in line.
But man oh man, I do NOT suffer fools wisely.
Ask my kids; they'll tell you. Their favorite expression any time we go
anywhere in public is, "Try not to make a scene."
Today at the car dealer, after a grueling day of playing
One-Up-Manship with my superiors, I'd finally had enough. I was toast.
I was the only person in the waiting area, and, after warming up the
same chair for over an hour, I'd seen the NECN news reel three times, going on
four. I had my phone out, pretending to
text friends I don't have and play games with people who always win. I even solved a few sudokus, and I'm
reasonably sure I napped a bit.
A woman came in and sat two seats away from me. Now, please bear in mind that there were at
least nine more chairs there plus another waiting area with tables, chairs,
coffee, and vending machines. However, I
am Flypaper for Freaks, so, of course, she had to sit as close to me as
possible without actually sitting in my lap.
I tried to quiet my phone so the only sound would be the
tap-tap-tap of whatever email, Facebook post, or game app I happened to be
working on at the moment. After all, she might be really interested in the
news, and I'd already memorized the entire feed. I was just about back into the zone when. . .
Holy motherfucker,
what in the hell is going on?
A sudden racket filled the air, loud voices, so loud that my
eyeballs hurt. I swear the sound was so
loud that my inner ear started hemorrhaging.
After sufficiently calming my blood pressure back to
semi-normal limits and coaxing my eardrums back into my ear canals, I tried to
figure out from where the noise was coming.
Loudspeaker? TV in the other
waiting area? Brain misfiring?
It took me about forty-five seconds to realize it was the
woman sitting close to me. She had
opened up an iPad and was blasting it at a volume level usually reserved for
rock concerts and Communist political rallies.
She wasn't blasting music; she was blasting dueling news that was complementing
and yet assaulting the NECN coverage. It
was enough to knock me clear out of my chair.
I was definitely not snoozing anymore.
And there I was worrying about my little fingers
tap-tap-tapping on my cell phone with the audio off so the alerts wouldn't
disturb anyone. Boob.
This is the point in the story when my kids all roll their
eyes, sigh knowingly, and murmur, "Here it comes…"
I almost asked her nicely to turn the volume to a level that
didn't require the entire county to hear her broadcast. I almost sneered at her with a disgusted
harumph. I almost asked her, "Hey,
can you turn that thing up a little? I'm
not sure my hippocampus has been entirely severed from my cerebral cortex
yet." I almost mouthed what my
brain was thinking to itself: "Bitch, seriously? Are you seriously doing this to me and
everyone sitting in this car dealership right now?"
I almost pulled a
Heliand.
Luckily for her, though, I'd already gone several rounds
with the Powers That Be at my job. I'd
already had to do something that I hate doing because it strikes me as petty
and futile -- I pulled "contract" on my cohorts and forced a skirmish
via email.
In short, I was in no mood to play Speaker Volume Stratego.
So I did something entirely out of character that I'm sure
my kids, especially my daughter, will never believe: I kept
my damn mouth shut. I didn't twitch,
I didn't mumble under my breath, I didn't even glare with the Anglo-Saxon
version of the Evil Eye. I pretended I
was deaf, which was dangerously close to becoming the truth since her iPad
really was excruciatingly, painfully loud.
I swear I am not lying; I
truly did keep my damn mouth shut.
Her stay was short, thank the car gods or the patron saint
of car mechanics everywhere. After the
day I had, I was in no mood. Had she not
gotten out of there when she did, there's a good chance her iPad would've ended
up sailing through one of those vending machines, followed seamlessly and with
adept precision by her skull.
No, I don't have any anger issues. Not a one.
Aw, come one, people; cut me some slack.
After all, I'm just
trying to be polite.
