Merry Effing Christmas

If you are adverse to profanity, this is not the post for you. It would simply diminish the impact if I were to change anything. You've been warned.

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It all started yesterday at the post office. I am setting up a business (more on that Thursday) and I needed to get some things handled at the local branch of the USPS. It is in a very small town and there is only one person that works there. It is closed from 12:30 to 2 for her lunch break. I chose it because it is closer to home and the PO Boxes were $15 less per year.

I arrived at 2 and there was one person in front of me at the only window open and another customer came in shortly thereafter.

When I reached the counter, the first thing up was the PO Box. I had all my documents in order — I had printed out the form the night before and filled it out, and had my driver's license and passport out for my two forms of photo ID. She did her paperwork, explained the box, and handed me the two keys.

Two people came in and stood in line.

Next was two books of festive nutcracker stamps for my holiday cards. I know, I'm late, late, late with those. I just haven't felt very creative with my letter this year and am waiting for inspiration.

Two more people came in and stood in line.

I apologized to the counter person and she assured me not to worry. I handed her my bank deposit that had to go Certified Mail with Return Receipt. All forms were already filled out.

Two more people came in and stood in line.

I had to get two $1,000 money orders.

Another person came in, a crotchety old geezer, and stood in line. The geezer started bitching about the line from the moment he walked in the place. The USPS person counted all my money, handed me all my items, and I was set. And the old man was still complaining.

I was thisclose to fucking going off on his ass. I mean, how important is his life that he can't stand in line for two minutes? It's not like I was dilly dallying, doing special things, or didn't know what I was doing. I was prepared and didn't even have to stand there and fill out any forms. I realize I had a lot to do but those things happen.

I stewed about it as I went and made sure the keys worked in the box. There was a snide comment welling up inside me to unleash on his sorry ass but I held my tongue.

Cut to this afternoon.

I went to the County Court House, the bank, and then to the grocery store.

Usually, when I'm in a foul mood and on the verge of going off on someone, I know it and I take caution to keep from anything that is going to upset me. Normally I'm a mild-mannered Mr. Congeniality, except when I've got someone turning my crank. When the "safety latch" on the crank is yanked, I go off like a roman candle. I'm belligerent and foul mouthed. Thankfully, it is only on rare occasions.

Subconsciously, I must have been holding onto the post office geezer incident.

After doing the grocery shopping, I get out to the car and load all the stuff into the trunk. I close the door and I look to see where the cart return is located. It is equidistant to the cart return corral and the front of the store so I return it to the front of the store. I worked my way through college at a grocery store and I hated getting carts, wishing people would just return them, so I make a conscious effort to place the cart in the appropriate spot. (I also get a cart in the parking lot and bring it in with me when I get to the store.)

I get back to my car, hop in, and back out of my space.

A man comes into my parking space from the front, screaming at me. He's got ahold of the cart that had been at the front of my car. At first, I think he's trying to get my attention that I've mistakenly left something in my cart. But that ain't my cart so no worries. He continues, his face scrunched in anger and hate. He flings the cart and it hits the car parked in the spot next to mine.

That was all it took. Mary had just yanked my safety latch and stomped on my last nerve. A nerve, I suspect, he won't soon forget.

I leapt out of the car and yelled, "What's the problem?"

"You didn't return your cart," he screamed.

Oh no you di-int. I. Went. Off.

"That isn't my fucking cart, you asshole. If you were paying attention, you would know that I returned my cart to the front of the store. Next time you're gonna stick your ugly puss in someone else's business, make sure you have your fucking facts straight. Merry fucking Christmas, you fucking douche bag."

I got back in the car and slammed the door. Until then, I hadn't noticed the woman loading groceries into her trunk two cars down. Poor thing, it looked like she was pretending to be invisible. I could have gotten back out and apologized to her for my cursing but I think it was for the best I just left.

I drove away with steam coming out of my ears. My adrenaline is still pumping.

The lesson is that you just never know who you're going to piss off.