When someone is rude, I am prone to a passive-aggressive affliction that, I hope, is also a common (if ultimately ineffective) experience for others.
I become Mentally Mean. (Heretofore known simply as MM.)
For instance, consider the pile of dirty gym clothes that guy has sitting in the middle of the narrow locker room floor — the mountain of used goods that everyone must step around. I could have asked, “Hi, are these yours? Would you mind moving them closer to your locker? Thanks so much.”
Instead, I got all MM and cursed him in my head. “Could you just move your $%#@! dirty clothes, you slobbish, self-centered oaf?!”
Yeah. THAT’S really gonna help fight the never-ending battle with rude behavior.
Perhaps it is time to stop sidestepping the dirty laundry and actually start speaking up.
The other day while I was changing at the gym, a guy fiddling with his locker let one rip. Within seconds, he made a beeline for a toilet.
Dude, you knew you had to fart. Surely you could have waited the few moments it took you to get to the bathroom.
And since you and I were the only ones in the locker room at the time, I was quite relieved that no one walked in after you meandered off and smelt what you dealt — because the only one left to blame was me.
Gross. And, oh, how rude.
Today when I went to the gym, this walking steroid starting backing up his car toward my car, which I was in the process of driving forward. I honked. He stopped, then started again toward me. I honked again. Finally, I noticed him waving me around, because he wanted a spot closer to the door, and was willing to force me to drive backwards so he could get it. I was floored. Not the pedal, luckily. I wanted to say, “Um, wouldn’t walking that extra two steps have enhanced your workout, you musclebound nimrod?!” But, um, that would have been rude.
