I believe I was called an idiot yesterday. Well, the words
were never verbalized, but I’m sure that was the intent. Idiot! It rang loud in my head. She thought she needed to explain
to me how to use a doorstop. A doorstop. Yes, that little triangular piece of
wood that one puts in a door to hold the door open. “I NEED you to take the
doorstop OUT of the door before you close the door.” Idiot! I believe the name itself details the reason it would need
to be removed. Doesn’t the stop part
of doorstop infer the door cannot be moved or closed with it still in the door?
Idiot! She was a customer, so I just
smiled. The idiotic part of this interaction is that I let it ruin my day. I
gave her a good 24 hours of stewing about it.
When I could have been conquering “The Count of Monte Cristo” (and
that’s a whole other story for another day), my evening was spent mulling over
witty retorts to her insinuation of my idiocy. And why? I will see her again;
she will be gruff, irritable, and condescending, and I will be stunned by her
remarks, and having no clever comeback, I will likely just smile. I don’t know.
Perhaps, she needs a smile.
Maybe, her husband is dying of cancer. Or he recently left her for another woman.
Possibly her son is a drug addict and stealing from her, and she doesn’t know
how to stop either. Her snippy words could be caused by pain, of the emotional
or physical type. I’d like to think she is simply not mean for the sake of
being mean. Yet, the alternative is she is dealing with heartache. Neither
option makes me feel better. So, I guess I’ll not let her unkind words steal
anymore of my happy moments, and I’ll be grateful I have them. Next time she
calls me an idiot, I’ll forgo the idea of adding to her unhappiness, and I’ll gladly
offer just a smile.
