I was raised right and generally like to think I'm with rather decent manners. I never push my way through a crowd, but rather gingerly shoulder my way past to with the appropriate "Pardon me. Excuse me," as is expected. I feign timorousness when the situation is proper and speak out when it is expected or necessary. I hold doors, always smile, and genially try to be cordial to everyone.
Then again, we all have our bad days. I've been that person who gets in the car and takes personal offense when the person behind me thinks I'm going to slow - which I probably am - and decided to go around and get in front of me. I respond with anger, taking this pass as an insult to my ability to drive, and speed up determined to prove to EVERYONE that I am not the slow, inattentive driver I am.
I'm also the type who detests poor phone skills and will deliberately make my revulsion apparent. For example, I may or may not have been taken aside at work and told that it is not appropriate to chastise one of our more annoying vendors for always every. single. time. interrupting me on the phone.
Then there are the days where I don't just completely toss all sense of propriety out to the wind, I club it in the back of the head with a shovel and then throw it in the back seat of my car to be buried in a train yard.
This is what happened yesterday. When I told a baby to go fuck itself.
Now, it wasn't the baby's fault. I admit that he was innocent and not really the problem. His father, who was an ass and whom I did tell to go fuck off, was.
It had already been a bad day. I mean a really bad day. The kind where you a negative energy of pure bitch fury just radiates off of you like heat from fire. Everyone knows to just leave you alone and the obvious scowl is enough to deter questions and well-intended comfort which would only add fuel to the flames.
Yes, it was that kind of day. Thank God, the work day was over and I only had to run to the market for some mussels so I could test a dish for the cookbook. I had called ahead and checked if they had any mussels.
"Two pounds? Yeah. We have plenty."
I asked if they were sure and if they could hold some for me. They explained that no, they couldn't do that for seafood but that it shouldn't be a problem. I told them fine and that I would only be an hour and that they would please just try to keep me and two pounds of mussels in mind.
I arrived, earlier than I had told them and walked up to the fish counter where there were no mussels.