POLITE DISEASE
I stood behind a woman at the hospital appointment desk yesterday who proceeded to make SIX months of appointments (of course she was picky with her dates and times) while 15 of us waited in line behind her for over 25 minutes. Seriously, are people this unaware and selfish? (I know the answer to this) I of course – not great in the patience department – did my best to SIGH deeply, shift back and forth, and occasionally let out a little groan that said ‘I’m big, bitchy and I may break my water on your sandals, lady!’ Frighteningly she didn’t even notice. I have to say, I was impressed with her ability to ignore the rest of us.
The problem is I have polite disease. This surprises many because I can be very demonstrative when I need to be. In fact, my partner claims he is the victim of all my expressiveness (oh but it’s love baby. It’s love!). When I’m out and about, I sometimes revert into this guilt-ridden product of Catholic school where they have beaten it into you that if you’re not considerate, the grim reaper will find you and drag you to his fiery lair by your hair. Hence why I left the church like a hyena with her tail on fire. But the guilt for some reason I was not able to shake.
I’m the girl who will tip for bad service, or won’t send back food (I've worked in restaurants, I know what they do to your food when you complain relentlessly, trust me, it's worth keeping the plate in front of you!), or is nice to cold callers, or has trouble confronting strangers when a situation demands it (this depends on the person and situation of course). It’s partly cause I live in a city where certain individuals and their blood sucking pitbulls, scare the crap out of me. I like my teeth thank you very much and I’d like to keep them. Saying all this, I'm no pushover, I'm just very odd in my moments of when I'll let 'mouthy girl' out of her cage. I often walk away thinking to myself, why the hell didn't I say something?? I always have something to say?! Ah the mysteries of the human psyche.
Occasionally on a polite 'off day,' I’ll be caught off guard and have no problem throwing a look, or speaking up to someone who has pissed me off. But it’s never the times one would think it should happen (no no, I don't fight old people and children...well unless they're really asking for it), and of course I worry afterward that I came off too harsh. One of my favorite tales of my polite disease was when I went to see a new chiropractor. I never have good luck with them – and seriously this should’ve have prepared me as my previous chiropractor started telling me about his sex life with the crazy women he’d bring home. Really, do I look like I want to hear about some bunny boiler who tied you to your bedpost? Just fix my back you creep!
So I’m in the office of chiro #2, sitting in a chair & praying this guy is normal, while he is sitting behind me working on my neck. Suddenly his breathing slows, and becomes quite heavy (don’t worry, it’s not pornographic) and his hands almost come to a standstill on my neck and I realize the man is not channeling my pain into his hands like a high powered healer, the dipsh*t is fast asleep, snoring and all!! I of course am shocked to the point of laughter. In fact that’s all I do is giggle and eventually cough a few times in hopes of waking him up, which eventually he does. My best friend couldn’t believe I didn’t get up and push his fat butt off his chair, not to mention I still paid the man his full fee.
Where o where are my balls when I need them? Funny enough, I think I leave my balls waiting for me in the airport where I turn into a raging lunatic and have no problem telling anyone where to go – I think it’s my fear of death and flying that brings out the animal in me. And don’t worry, I seriously vet my chiropractors now, in fact I’ve switched to osteopaths, they seem much more PG-13.