It was one of those mornings. No matter that I gave myself plenty of time to get ready, I was still racing around because I simply am horrible at time management. An extra cup of coffee, a little something to eat, take the dog out, spend a little time with Sue before we both got shot out of the cannon called daily life. When I was tearing across the orchard I noticed the clock in the truck said 7:45 which means it really was 7:40, and I was trying to make the 8:00 train. I did make it in time to board the train waiting on the platform in Framingham. I found a seat, pulled out my book, then reached into my back pocket for my wallet where I keep my train pass. The little plastic card wasn't in my wallet. I knew where it was: it was in the pocket of the shirt I wore yesterday, which was lying on the floor of my closet where I threw it when I got home. To top it off, the fare is $6.25, and all I had was a five and a one. I looked at my watch and realized I didn’t have time to get off the train and go to the bank. I didn’t know what else to do, so I looked for a conductor and threw myself at his mercy. I explained the situation, telling him all I had was the six bucks. He mumbled for me to take a seat. When he came to collect tickets and I handed him the six dollars I had, he said, "I thought you said you had a pass," and I said I did but not on me. “Just make sure you have it tomorrow,” he said, and moved on. I settled back with American Fuji, feeling a little less pressured thanks to the sympathy of the conductor, who could actually have made my life pretty miserable at that point.
While this was going on, Sue was having her own little commute from hell. After the conductor told me to sit down, I called Sue to see if she was still at the apartment and could check to make sure the pass actually was in my shirt pocket. At $210.00 a month, the pass is something that I like to know I won’t have to replace. She, however, was on Summer Street, stuck behind a man driving a car with the trunk filled with boxes and going, according to Sue’s speedometer, 12 mph. Sue had to be in court in Barnstable on Cape Cod at 9:30, an hour and a half away, and this guy seemed hell-bent on making sure she wasn’t going to make it. We’ve all driven behind a joker like this. We’re in a hurry, life’s pressures are encroaching, and the person we’re following is aware of that fact and passive/aggressively controls the situation and the people around them by impeding them. Yeah, maybe Sue was driving a little close to his bumper, but who wouldn’t at 12 mph? And, as a line of cars grew and crept along behind this guy, instead of pulling over and letting people pass by, he hit his brakes and drove even slower.
It’s not about you and your low self-esteem, mister. It isn’t about you having to cry out to the world, “I’m a human being, too, damnit, and I want to be noticed.” It’s about you being a controlling jerk and selfish to other’s lives around you. Get over yourself.
Two people having a tough time getting to work. In the first case, someone had the power to make someone's life just a little easier, and chose to do that. In the second, someone took the selfish choice.
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