Petty anger is the worst form of anger. I’ve talked a bit this year about dealing with stress, as in mega angst and catastrophe, and learning to feel those feelings instead of stuffing your face. But sometimes I think the minor, everyday annoyances are the hardest to cope with.
I bought some sandals on the weekend, and was overjoyed to have solved my endless Summer Shoe Dilemma. I took them home and put them on while watching the qualifying for the Italian MotoGP. Just as it finished I looked down to see one of the sandal straps wasn’t stitched properly and was all loose.
Nae bother, I thought, I’ll just take them back on Monday. So I rocked up to the shop early yesterday morning and to find they were opening late due to an obscure local holiday. The sign said they were closing at 5PM, so I made a point of downing tools early and rushing up there. I arrived at 4.47PM and they had already locked the doors. The sales chicks were still swanning around and I kinda waved at them but they just shrugged and pointed at the tills, as if to say, "Sorry, we’re done baby."
I just kind of lost the plot right there, coz I say 13 minutes to the hour means you should still be bloody open for business! When I worked at KFC in high school, some drunken moron would always come in at 10.55PM demanding a Fillet burger and I would make his stinking fillet burger, even though I’d much rather finish cleaning chicken grease off some impossible surface so I could go home. BUT NO, I would make the burger because I was dedicated to the Colonel’s cause. I would pick the most withered, dried-up piece of bird and give him less than the regulation 14 grams of lettuce, while sighing heavily and rolling my teenage eyes, BUT I STILL DID IT!
Kids these days. No work ethic.
Anyway I was full of pathetic rage for wasting about an hour of my day stomping back and forth to this shoe shop and as the venom surged through my veins can you imagine what my first thought was?
But luckily Gareth was nearby, so instead I ranted and raved about this retail outrage then punched him on the arm about twenty-seven times. They were very gentle blows, and his arms are strong, so I think he was okay with being my punching bag (we shall see).
By the time I was done the town clock was bonging the hour, so I bellowed, "OH HARK! What could that be? Why it’s… five oh f*cking clock!"
It felt good to let it all out. And this morning I did some weights and my arms and legs are still trembling as I write this, so I am back on track and all is good with the world again. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.