A Failing Filter

Do you ever have the kind of day where you are pretty sure the world has gone crazy?

A morning where they make your breakfast wrong and replace it with the same exact thing. It’s a bagel, not rocket science.

It’s the kind of day where you send an e-mail asking two questions and they respond to the first. Then in the same correspondence, imply you’ve neglected to address the second. Did you even read to the bottom? I know you didn’t.

It’s the sort of day where you hand the cashier a $50, they give you change for a $20, and then get offended when you correct them. The whole while they angrily shake Alexander Hamilton under your nose. But it’s right there. In. Your. Hand.

A day when so many people have projected on you that you feel like a movie screen. Your experience is not absolute. Reality check – all that stuff you just made up about me? STFU.

It’s the kind of day that every time someone comes to your office, someone else shows up to talk to that person, interrupting you mid-sentence. Hello? Can’t you see I’m talking here. 

It’s the sort of day where someone who continually externalizes their problems starts complaining. Again. Did it ever occur to you that it’s not the system? It’s not society? It’s just you.

A riotously hot afternoon desperate calls for an iced tea, and you got the last one! But someone on the street bumps into you, knocking it out of your hand. Instead of saying excuse me, they’re angry at you for splashing their shoes. Wait? What? You owe me $2.19. And an apology.

I’m about to lose control of my brain-to-mouth filter. It could get ugly.

 

 

 


Feel free to chime in!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s