ass face

I don't like getting that angry. I pretend that I do in the re-telling, but it's so stressful, makes things so meaningless, lessens my ability to communicate effectively. Why did I have to yell to make myself heard? Grounding out the words through clenched teeth, tethering the curses that naturally sprang to mind...but you, you monosyllabic cretins...did any of you say, "What do you need?" No. You each acted as though you were doing me a favor. I pay through the pores for your services, and you are doing me a favor. So, after 45 minutes of ridiculousness I got loud. Did you hear me? Probably not. Did you get me what I wanted? Yes, you did.

Impotent rage. So unfashionable, so unacceptable, and yet, how can the modern being (and HMO patient) endure without feeling it? How can one ride public transportation, watch dozens of people picking their noses and not offering their seats to the elderly, or hear local teenagers abusing each other and anyone who is different outside the CVS not feel the rise of a palpable ire? How can we hear that one C. Thomas, the original "long John Dong," has written a tome full of allegations of his own victimization and not experience that rush of adrenaline that precedes a spot of bitterness and bile? How can we hear about Buddhist monks being beaten and imprisoned and not raise a fist at the sky and do some primal screaming?