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July 08, 2004
Adventures in Anger
I've been struggling mercilessly trying to determine my best course of action in securing regular employment. Presently, I've given a lot of it to G-d, knowing that G-d's will for me is what is best for me, and most certainly involves my talent or interests, else why would G-d have made me this way? Therefore, it was with open mind this morning that I prayed and meditated and prayed and meditated and prayed and meditated for G-d to show me the solution, and open my eyes so that I would see it and understand it.
Then I made my plans. Hit the noon meeting and then go look for a job.
My attire took some time to formalize, and I became the tiniest bit late. So my plans became: hit the 12:15 meeting and then go look for a job. But first I had to get gas for the truck. I plotted a course to the Hess station on Cypress Creek and Powerline Roads. As we all know, Hess is the cheapest, no-hassle gasoline anywhere you go.
Because this station only has four pumps, I pulled in, foolishly, behind a large SUV. Comfortably, in my air-conditioned truck, I watch him walk over to the attendant, walk back, pump $10, $20, $30...
I watch the people in line at the attendants. There's a group of Mexican-looking fellows, one with a gas container, looking confused. The SUV guy passed $50. I think about what a horrifying drain on the environment his vehicle is.
Finally, he's done, and I wait for him to go BACK to the attendant and wait in line. It's about 11:55 by now, and I'm more than ready when he finally returns and drives off. Why doesn't a man with that kind of vehicle have a credit card? I pull up, stick my card in the machine and... none of the keypads work.
I start to get mildly angry. Actually, I'm slamming the butt of my hand into the pump. Nothing.
I walk over to the attendant with my credit card and say, "You know, you need to have a sign on that tank."
He takes my card and I walk back. There is now one of the Mexican-looking fellows using my gas pump.
"No, no no no no no!!!" I scream at the man. "I just gave him my card!"
The man is insisting he paid $4.00 to get gas. I won't have it. I grab the nozzle out of his hand and plant it in my tank.
He walks off. I'm fuming. The pump stops at $2.00.
I'm furious as I return to the attendant. He tells me in his Some-Island-In-The-Caribbean voice that the other guy was next. I scream at him that I have been waiting for THAT pump for fifteen minutes, and how DARE he give it away.
I give the Mexican my first two dollars. He takes $2.14 worth of gas. I commence to fill my tank. The guy in the pump next to me is explaining how there's no such thing as service any more. He's wondering what the hell happened to service, and that in the old days you wouldn't have to deal with people like this. This guy is about my age. I respond affirmatively, not necessarily because I agree with him but that I'm completely pissed off
By the time I pass $20 I'm wondering why the hell I'm still pumping. I replace the nozzle and storm back to the attendant, waiting in line behind two other people. His nametag declares him, "Nick".
"Can I see your ID," Nick declares. I'm certain it's only because I'm yelling at him.
"Fuck you!" I rant as I pull my wallet out.
He hands me my receipt as I demand, "What's the name of your manager?"
"I'm the manager, and this is my name!" he points at the name tag. I'm certain that neither is he the manager nor is his name, Nick.
"I'm getting in touch with your corporate headquarters!" I scream. My voice is squeaking now, about half an octave above normal.
He snorts his derision.
I spit the following, "You need to learn something about service."
My day is completely fouled up, and I drive the last two miles back home. I speed-dial the Housemate, who is on a job site. I explain to his message center that my day is all messed up.
Sherry, the neighbor who holds hostages in conversation, is in her yard as I pull in. I unload myself on her, in a kind of ironic reverse roles. I am saved from hearing about her difficulties by a television being delivered to her home.
As I get inside, I pull up the Hess website to get more information, but I'm already reflecting back on what happened.
The satisfaction I'm looking for involves "Nick" admitting he was wrong and apologizing. There's a remote chance I could make a big enough stink and get him fired, but judging by his attitude, and the condition of that gas station, he doesn't much like it anyway. I realize that I couldn't possibly get any kind of satisfaction from it.
Then it occurs to me that G-d is screaming a message at me. My last job was in a service-oriented profession. I'm not doing so well with my interpersonal skills lately. The message? I have to be certain that whatever it is that I will be doing next, it should involve as little human contact as possible. At this point, I feel like a million dollars.
Tomorrow, I get back on track. No gas stations this time.
While I was getting graphic ideas for this post, I came upon this great statue image: Angry Man Statue
Posted by Bastique at July 8, 2004 09:28 AM