The day the patience died
My patience has been running low. Let’s face it, there was never much of it in that tank in the first place.
A small caveat, I don’t believe that there are more rude people in the world than there used to be. There are more people in the world and a small percentage of them are rude. Statistically, the result is the same, but the logic helps me sleep at night.
This story starts at a fundraiser. After a lovely evening of jazz, I waltzed into the reception area, a gallery of Lincoln portraits at the Andrew Carnegie Free Library and Music Hall, for a soiree. My soul was soaring after an evening of delightful music, but my stomach was feeling hollow. I stood in line for hors d’oeuvres.
Side note: I collect poorly proofread material and paste it all over the internet, mostly it’s church signs and birthday cakes. Recently, I saw a sign at a wedding reception that offered cocktail hour with horse ovaries. I couldn’t imagine what happened, until my autocorrect changed hors d’oeuvres to horse ovaries just now. Unlike the party planners of that unfortunate invitation, I had the good sense to change it.
But I digress, like I do. As I waited in line to gather up cheese, crackers and – let’s just say other “nibbly things” – when this brazen woman bellied up to the table from the other direction, stood in front of me and began grazing. I said, “Excuse me, we were waiting,” and I pointed to the 15 to 20 people behind me. She said, “Oh,” and continued to fill her small plate with smoked gouda, brie and small, toasted slices from a mini baguette.
To recap: I had a soulful of jazz, an empty stomach and now … heart full of rage.
I was about to go full-on Mrs. White on her: “It-it – the flames. Flames! On the side of my face!” Instead, I went to the bar and waited for a plastic cupful of wine. There was a magnanimous man who could not decide on a wine and began letting people go in front of him. Once again, they came from the other direction, and, unfortunately, he didn’t see me standing behind him. I thought there was only one person between me and my two ounces of Merlot, but there were suddenly six. Finally, I cut in front of him and said, “Enough of this.”
He glared at me – assuming I was the rude one! How quickly the tables had turned. Literally. The food table was less than 10 feet from the beverage table.
The bearded but mustache-less faces of Abraham Lincoln stared at me, judged me.
I am sure this man is telling people about the rude dude who appeared out of nowhere and cut the line. He’ll leave out the part about letting six other idiots in because he couldn’t decide between a red or a white.
He’ll be the hero in his story and one of the villains in mine.