I tend to expect the best from people.
I’m a glass half full type of gal.
Maybe that’s why I often find myself disappointed.
Yesterday, as I was driving from one NEPA location to another and running my usual fifteen minutes late I drove my little Aveo fast and hard. I used the passing lanes and, admittedly, went a little faster than I probably should have; but I wanted to get to my brothers’ swim meet and celebrate The Golden Child’s birthday.
After passing 4 or 5 cars in passing lanes I eventually came to a red light and complied to the rules of the road and stopped. While singing along to some random Christmas song, I spot a man in my side view mirror. It looks like he’s approaching my vehicle. As he gets closer, I think, “Oh no, maybe my taillight is out or something’s wrong with my car. What a nice man to come and inform me of such.”
I see the man’s mouth moving, but I can’t understand him (hello, it’s NEPA, it’s DECEMBER, why on earth would my windows be down?!) I roll down my window, smile and say, “What’s that?” expecting a good Samaritan response.
“Where you going, hot rod?” is the retort I’m given.
I assure you readers, this sentence was said with the most contempt and holier-than-thou attitude you can possible imagine.
I was dumbstruck. I sat there with my mouth open as I rolled up my window. I felt like the universe slapped me in the face. All day long I had thought good thoughts, smiling at the strangers I met, holding open doors, filling out surveys, and being KIND. And this, this is how the universe repays me? Redneck old men on a power trip? Epic Fail, Universe, EPIC FAIL.
As I sat there and stewed I felt myself get increasingly upset. Just where does he get off asking me such a question? How did he know I wasn’t on my way to my father’s deathbed? How did he know I wasn’t 9 months and 2 weeks pregnant and ready to expel chilin all over the place? Why did he feel compelled to be so rude to a complete stranger whose only crime was passing him in the PASSING LANE?!
That kind of delusional self-involvement is foreign to me. I always try to put myself in the other person’s shoes. I’m nice to service people, I politely decline the annoying, “Miss, can I ask you a question?” mall lotion-hockers. I’m nice to telemarketers.
I truly believe that most people are good and kind, and if they’re not when I interact with them, I assume I caught them on a bad day, or that they’re going through a rough patch. I normally see the world as graciously filling my glass halfway.
Today, I felt like I watched someone empty it.
Asshat.
Fin.
