I spoke to a friend recently about a family member of theirs who's going through a hard time. A mother and adult child had an argument - an ordinary kind of argument - but Mom passed away unexpectedly the next day, so this meant that the last thing that they ever said to each other was angry (and maybe unkind). This sent the child into a tailspin. Child is having a really hard time coping with the idea that they "never got to settle things;" they worry that the relationship is somehow frozen in that angry moment, and can't ever be fixed.
I can't speak for their mom, but I can speak for me. I think a great deal, the older I get, about Aging People Stuff. I probably make people uncomfortable, because I get pretty effusive about telling people that I love them (you've gotta say it!) I also tell my kids what to do if I'm senile, what I want at my funeral, stuff they might need to know.
Here's what my kids, my family, my friends might need to know if I die after we've argued: don't sweat it. Seriously. I won't. Our relationship is what took place over the whole time we knew each other, not on one day.
Plus, if you ever made the mistake of thinking that I never argue with people, give that up right now. I disagree with most people about something. I have very little filter. Pretty much daily, I tell someone that they're wrong, or they tell me that I'm wrong. Plus, I'm a stubborn person, from a long line of stubborn people. Heads get butted, feelings get hurt.
I don't really know what it would look like to always agree with people. I grew up practicing a religion that was different from the other members of my household. I don't belong to the same political party as my husband. There are more people in my life who differ from me than there are people who are similar.
That's undoubtedly why I don't get overwhelmed by differences. I just expect them. And sure, there are people whose company I don't enjoy. But I don't wish harm on any of them. I hope that they live happy, healthy lives. I just don't need to be in the same room with them while they do it. But, lemme tell you, that list is so small, the chance that you personally are on it is next to nothing. And, I can't think of a single person to whom I couldn't be civil - and times that I choose not to be, anyway.
There will be arguments, hurt feelings, the stuff of being human. And that, too, is expected. So, I don't really need to "settle" things. I'm not waiting for an apology. (If you're waiting for one, know that I'm sorry that your feelings were hurt, sincerely. But you don't need to please me, and I don't need to please you.)
I don't plan on any "saying goodbye" scenes before I die, either. There will be no calling people to my side to impart last words of wisdom or love or anything else. If I think it really needs said, I've said it. I'm not waiting to hear you validate me.
So, look, whatever either of us may have said or done or not, we're good. It's OK.
If your mom or dad or best friend or boss or anyone else left unfinished business, I'm really sure that they want you to let it go. They knew what you wanted to say. It's alright. Don't lose any sleep over it. It doesn't define your life, or theirs.
It's OK.
Showing posts with label argument. Show all posts
Showing posts with label argument. Show all posts
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Thursday, June 22, 2017
"How Would You Like That Cooked?"
By now, most people are at least aware of the concept of "Love Languages." It's the idea that each person values something as the most important component of a relationship, so they will try to provide it for their partner. People who value financial security and/or gift giving will work extra hours in order to give expensive gifts. But, if their partner values time spent together, they will be disappointed that their partner chooses to stay longer than necessary at work instead of come home to them, and they will view gifts as a failed attempt to "buy" their affection.
I was truly unaware that there are so many other instances in which the idea people think they're presenting is not what others see or hear - ordinary instances of everyday words or actions. I'm still often taken by surprise - when someone tells me that my definition of the word "evolution" is the "wrong" definition, for instance. (I mean, I always figured that the dictionary had the final say on what words mean. Now, people tell me that "popular usage" is the most important thing, but that changes extremely frequently, by location, etc. That's almost like having no definition at all.)
It makes living with other humans, even in a community, much less in a shared home, difficult.
Allow me to demonstrate with an argument about: steak. Sincerely; bear with me.
I've mentioned before that when I was a newlywed, my husband had a really hard time with the way I prepared food.
"I was now having flashbacks to instance after instance in which my husband and I had been on completely separate pages. When we first got married, for instance, how I ate and/or cooked my food could send him into a tailspin. I remembered him insisting, completely distraught, "You cannot go on eating your sandwiches that way!" What? It was my sandwich, and I liked it. When I would tell him that, he would huff and roll his eyes, or worse, tell me, "That's irrelevant." How could the way I liked my sandwiches be irrelevant to me? I wasn't making his sandwiches that way and asking him to eat them, I was just feeding myself. Does not compute!
(His beef with my sandwiches, in case you wondered, is that I put only butter and cheese on my grilled cheese. "They have no taste!")" "The Right Way," July 2013)
I found it bizarre and unfathomable. If I'd insisted on making his food the way I liked it, I'd understand, but this was my own food.
My husband loves steak. If he could have only one meal, for the rest of his life, it would be steak and eggs, medium rare, over easy, with wheat toast.
Quite often, the way he cooks his steak looks, to me, like there's nothing "medium" about it, and it's straight up rare. I do not like rare meat, even medium rare meat. I don't need it to be all the way to "well done," but I can't stand it raw looking or tasting. This really disturbed my husband. Not puzzled, but sincerely upset him.
He kept trying to get me to "just try it" his way, and I kept repeating that I had tried it, and that's how I know that I don't like it. Then one day he said, "You just haven't ever had a really good cut of meat, properly prepared." Well, OK, maybe there was something to that. Money was tight when I was growing up; expensive cuts of meat were not on the menu. So, my husband went shopping, bought (ridiculously expensive) steaks, and cooked them, and proudly served me dinner. "You'll see," he said.
He was so delighted with his dinner. "Isn't this great?" he kept saying. "So tender! Doesn't it just melt in your mouth?"
NO. It did not "melt" in my mouth. It was not "tender." It was like chewing rubber bands - the chewing did not actually change the size, shape, or texture of the meat. My teeth just kind of bounced off of it. And the longer I chewed, the more it seemed that the meat actually absorbed my saliva, and got larger and larger. This might be OK if I just loved the taste, but I didn't. It tasted bloody, like when you've just had dental work, or accidentally bite yourself. It was barely edible. I knew this from previous experience, but this was particularly bad, as he'd left it so rare that I expected it to still moo.
I tried to respond without hurting his feelings, but finally said, "I just can't eat this. It's barely even cooked." I got up and tossed it back on the pan. When it was done, I happily ate the whole thing, and complimented his seasoning and choice of steak. "That was really good."
"Yes, it was good - and then you ruined it."
Well, I expected a bit of a huff, since he felt that I'd criticized his cooking.
I also expected that to be the final word. We were done now, I was sure. We'd tested every hypothesis, and I just do not like rare meat. Now we could quit discussing it.
But we, apparently, could not. If anything, he wanted more discussion, and he got more and more agitated.
I'd order my meat medium well at restaurants, and he'd say, "You're offending the chef. They don't like it when people want the meat well done."
I resisted the urge to say, "Oh, now you're psychic?" but said, "He's getting paid the same, no matter how I want it. He doesn't care. Besides, I didn't ask for well done. I asked for medium well."
"The chefs hate that. And they don't give you the good cuts then. They give you the old stuff or the tough stuff that other people won't eat."
"So, they'll be happy I'm using up their surplus, and paying the same as you are. And I'll be happy, too." I could not imagine that there could be a down side to this.
He did not see it this way. He was sure that I was being "rude" by ordering my food the way that I liked it; I could not imagine how that was possible.
I took to ordering chicken; I was informed that this, too, was "offensive." "You should always order the specialty of the house. The chef hates it when people come to a steakhouse and order chicken."
Me: "So, the chef will be angry if you order literally half of what's on the menu? Why does he work here? And how do you psychically know what he's thinking?"
Him: "Because that's what most people think."
Me: "WHAT?" Now he can read the mind of not only the chef, but "most" of the population? And I still didn't know, even if he could, why they got to choose my meals. I wasn't choosing theirs!
At home, I took care to cook his steak the way he liked it. Mine, of course, I cooked the way I like it. I was sure that my husband would be happy that I was being considerate enough to remember what he liked, and make it for him. I felt like a very attentive wife. I was therefore very puzzled when he was not happy, and did not consider this behavior to be considerate, but instead insisted that I was being self centered. "How can giving you what you like possibly self centered?" I wanted to know.
"Because you know how to do it right, and insist on doing it wrong."
"'Right' is however a person likes it!"
"Most people like their beef on the rare side."
"I am not cooking for 'most people!' I am cooking for specific individuals, not random passers by! And I am making sure that each person gets what they like, not what strangers might want!"
It made no sense at all to me.
I also could not understand why this was a big deal. Statistically, we were supposed to be arguing about money, sex, in-laws, chores, child rearing - and we're stuck on food. FOOD.
After literally years of this, I finally discovered a few things that finally shed some light.
One, my husband did not see this as a disagreement or a misunderstanding. He was positive that I knew exactly what he meant, and why, and my insistence on making my own food outside of what he considered to be the norm was a posturing attempt to dominate, control, and assert that I was the Alpha in the relationship. Holy cow. I never would have gotten that interpretation, not in a million years. I did, however, think that his behavior was controlling. (I mean, who tells people how they should like their food? Also, I think that if you have an Alpha in the relationship, it's unhealthy.)
Two, he was sure that if you disagreed with someone (about anything, really), you thought, and were saying, that they were stupid. ("If you thought they were smart, you'd agree with them.") He therefore felt criticized and judged - ironically, exactly how I felt.
Three, he was sure that there was only one best way to do anything, and that people should be concerned with doing anything "right," so individual tastes were irrelevant. Saying, "Bob likes it this way, but Susie likes it that way" was the same as saying, "We're doing a really mediocre job, and encouraging chaos and selfishness." It didn't matter how you liked it, it mattered what was right. And if you liked things the wrong way, you should be embarrassed, and should stop doing it wrong, no matter how you felt. Who wants to be wrong? And if you point out to someone that they're wrong, you're being helpful.
Wow. This was not how I was raised:
"I grew up hearing, "There's more than one way to skin a cat," and, "All roads lead to Rome," being told over and over that there was always more than one way to accomplish any goal... The idea that there was only one "right" way to do anything was not part of my daily reality." ("The Right Way")
This was not a matter of morals or physics, and therefore, to my mind, there was no possible way to be "wrong."
Four, the fact that I kept using the word "I" confirmed to him that I thought my opinion was the only thing that mattered, and I was therefore, by definition, being selfish and self centered. When I said, "I like it this way," he heard, "I do not ever need to consider anyone but myself."
On the other hand, I had studied communication in school. Plus, I'd approached marriage the same way I approached anything, by reading voluminous amounts. I knew that making "I" statements is what psychologists and relationship experts advise. It tells your partner what you're thinking and what you need, and avoids inflammatory, blame placing statements like, "You make me so mad."
Five, he thought that he was being a considerate partner by looking beyond what I was saying to try to figure out what I "really meant." He also thought that being vague avoided putting people on the spot, or hurting feelings. I thought that I was being a considerate partner, and avoiding misunderstanding, by being clear and literal, and taking what he said at face value. I thought that he'd appreciate my lack of game playing, and avoiding infuriating behaviors like, "If you loved me, you'd know why I'm upset." I find vagueness infuriating and unhelpful.
And you can be sure, all of this affected far more than our discussions about steak.
Holy. Cow.
So, now knowing these things, are we living in perfect harmony? HA HA! You're so cute! No. But understanding is indeed the first step.
What we try to do is consider our partner's style. It's not a case of, "I'm right, you're wrong." Intent is important.
He has to try to remember take what I say at face value, without looking for ulterior motives. I have to try to remember that he may not actually be saying everything that he wants me to know.
Of course, he still thinks that the way I like my steak is weird. I think it's weird that the way I like my steak concerns him. But we've learned how to avoid arguing about it.
You know when you hear that someone's getting a divorce, and one partner says, "I was completely blindsided. I had no idea my spouse was unhappy," and the other says, "My spouse knows perfectly well why we're divorcing! S/he knows that I'm unhappy, and that I've been this way for a long time! This cannot be a surprise!" I understand now how that happens.
What you think you're saying may not be what other people are hearing.
I was truly unaware that there are so many other instances in which the idea people think they're presenting is not what others see or hear - ordinary instances of everyday words or actions. I'm still often taken by surprise - when someone tells me that my definition of the word "evolution" is the "wrong" definition, for instance. (I mean, I always figured that the dictionary had the final say on what words mean. Now, people tell me that "popular usage" is the most important thing, but that changes extremely frequently, by location, etc. That's almost like having no definition at all.)
It makes living with other humans, even in a community, much less in a shared home, difficult.
Allow me to demonstrate with an argument about: steak. Sincerely; bear with me.
I've mentioned before that when I was a newlywed, my husband had a really hard time with the way I prepared food.
"I was now having flashbacks to instance after instance in which my husband and I had been on completely separate pages. When we first got married, for instance, how I ate and/or cooked my food could send him into a tailspin. I remembered him insisting, completely distraught, "You cannot go on eating your sandwiches that way!" What? It was my sandwich, and I liked it. When I would tell him that, he would huff and roll his eyes, or worse, tell me, "That's irrelevant." How could the way I liked my sandwiches be irrelevant to me? I wasn't making his sandwiches that way and asking him to eat them, I was just feeding myself. Does not compute!
(His beef with my sandwiches, in case you wondered, is that I put only butter and cheese on my grilled cheese. "They have no taste!")" "The Right Way," July 2013)
I found it bizarre and unfathomable. If I'd insisted on making his food the way I liked it, I'd understand, but this was my own food.
My husband loves steak. If he could have only one meal, for the rest of his life, it would be steak and eggs, medium rare, over easy, with wheat toast.
Quite often, the way he cooks his steak looks, to me, like there's nothing "medium" about it, and it's straight up rare. I do not like rare meat, even medium rare meat. I don't need it to be all the way to "well done," but I can't stand it raw looking or tasting. This really disturbed my husband. Not puzzled, but sincerely upset him.
He kept trying to get me to "just try it" his way, and I kept repeating that I had tried it, and that's how I know that I don't like it. Then one day he said, "You just haven't ever had a really good cut of meat, properly prepared." Well, OK, maybe there was something to that. Money was tight when I was growing up; expensive cuts of meat were not on the menu. So, my husband went shopping, bought (ridiculously expensive) steaks, and cooked them, and proudly served me dinner. "You'll see," he said.
He was so delighted with his dinner. "Isn't this great?" he kept saying. "So tender! Doesn't it just melt in your mouth?"
NO. It did not "melt" in my mouth. It was not "tender." It was like chewing rubber bands - the chewing did not actually change the size, shape, or texture of the meat. My teeth just kind of bounced off of it. And the longer I chewed, the more it seemed that the meat actually absorbed my saliva, and got larger and larger. This might be OK if I just loved the taste, but I didn't. It tasted bloody, like when you've just had dental work, or accidentally bite yourself. It was barely edible. I knew this from previous experience, but this was particularly bad, as he'd left it so rare that I expected it to still moo.
I tried to respond without hurting his feelings, but finally said, "I just can't eat this. It's barely even cooked." I got up and tossed it back on the pan. When it was done, I happily ate the whole thing, and complimented his seasoning and choice of steak. "That was really good."
"Yes, it was good - and then you ruined it."
Well, I expected a bit of a huff, since he felt that I'd criticized his cooking.
I also expected that to be the final word. We were done now, I was sure. We'd tested every hypothesis, and I just do not like rare meat. Now we could quit discussing it.
But we, apparently, could not. If anything, he wanted more discussion, and he got more and more agitated.
I'd order my meat medium well at restaurants, and he'd say, "You're offending the chef. They don't like it when people want the meat well done."
I resisted the urge to say, "Oh, now you're psychic?" but said, "He's getting paid the same, no matter how I want it. He doesn't care. Besides, I didn't ask for well done. I asked for medium well."
"The chefs hate that. And they don't give you the good cuts then. They give you the old stuff or the tough stuff that other people won't eat."
"So, they'll be happy I'm using up their surplus, and paying the same as you are. And I'll be happy, too." I could not imagine that there could be a down side to this.
He did not see it this way. He was sure that I was being "rude" by ordering my food the way that I liked it; I could not imagine how that was possible.
I took to ordering chicken; I was informed that this, too, was "offensive." "You should always order the specialty of the house. The chef hates it when people come to a steakhouse and order chicken."
Me: "So, the chef will be angry if you order literally half of what's on the menu? Why does he work here? And how do you psychically know what he's thinking?"
Him: "Because that's what most people think."
Me: "WHAT?" Now he can read the mind of not only the chef, but "most" of the population? And I still didn't know, even if he could, why they got to choose my meals. I wasn't choosing theirs!
At home, I took care to cook his steak the way he liked it. Mine, of course, I cooked the way I like it. I was sure that my husband would be happy that I was being considerate enough to remember what he liked, and make it for him. I felt like a very attentive wife. I was therefore very puzzled when he was not happy, and did not consider this behavior to be considerate, but instead insisted that I was being self centered. "How can giving you what you like possibly self centered?" I wanted to know.
"Because you know how to do it right, and insist on doing it wrong."
"'Right' is however a person likes it!"
"Most people like their beef on the rare side."
"I am not cooking for 'most people!' I am cooking for specific individuals, not random passers by! And I am making sure that each person gets what they like, not what strangers might want!"
It made no sense at all to me.
I also could not understand why this was a big deal. Statistically, we were supposed to be arguing about money, sex, in-laws, chores, child rearing - and we're stuck on food. FOOD.
After literally years of this, I finally discovered a few things that finally shed some light.
One, my husband did not see this as a disagreement or a misunderstanding. He was positive that I knew exactly what he meant, and why, and my insistence on making my own food outside of what he considered to be the norm was a posturing attempt to dominate, control, and assert that I was the Alpha in the relationship. Holy cow. I never would have gotten that interpretation, not in a million years. I did, however, think that his behavior was controlling. (I mean, who tells people how they should like their food? Also, I think that if you have an Alpha in the relationship, it's unhealthy.)
Two, he was sure that if you disagreed with someone (about anything, really), you thought, and were saying, that they were stupid. ("If you thought they were smart, you'd agree with them.") He therefore felt criticized and judged - ironically, exactly how I felt.
Three, he was sure that there was only one best way to do anything, and that people should be concerned with doing anything "right," so individual tastes were irrelevant. Saying, "Bob likes it this way, but Susie likes it that way" was the same as saying, "We're doing a really mediocre job, and encouraging chaos and selfishness." It didn't matter how you liked it, it mattered what was right. And if you liked things the wrong way, you should be embarrassed, and should stop doing it wrong, no matter how you felt. Who wants to be wrong? And if you point out to someone that they're wrong, you're being helpful.
Wow. This was not how I was raised:
"I grew up hearing, "There's more than one way to skin a cat," and, "All roads lead to Rome," being told over and over that there was always more than one way to accomplish any goal... The idea that there was only one "right" way to do anything was not part of my daily reality." ("The Right Way")
This was not a matter of morals or physics, and therefore, to my mind, there was no possible way to be "wrong."
Four, the fact that I kept using the word "I" confirmed to him that I thought my opinion was the only thing that mattered, and I was therefore, by definition, being selfish and self centered. When I said, "I like it this way," he heard, "I do not ever need to consider anyone but myself."
On the other hand, I had studied communication in school. Plus, I'd approached marriage the same way I approached anything, by reading voluminous amounts. I knew that making "I" statements is what psychologists and relationship experts advise. It tells your partner what you're thinking and what you need, and avoids inflammatory, blame placing statements like, "You make me so mad."
Five, he thought that he was being a considerate partner by looking beyond what I was saying to try to figure out what I "really meant." He also thought that being vague avoided putting people on the spot, or hurting feelings. I thought that I was being a considerate partner, and avoiding misunderstanding, by being clear and literal, and taking what he said at face value. I thought that he'd appreciate my lack of game playing, and avoiding infuriating behaviors like, "If you loved me, you'd know why I'm upset." I find vagueness infuriating and unhelpful.
And you can be sure, all of this affected far more than our discussions about steak.
Holy. Cow.
So, now knowing these things, are we living in perfect harmony? HA HA! You're so cute! No. But understanding is indeed the first step.
What we try to do is consider our partner's style. It's not a case of, "I'm right, you're wrong." Intent is important.
He has to try to remember take what I say at face value, without looking for ulterior motives. I have to try to remember that he may not actually be saying everything that he wants me to know.
Of course, he still thinks that the way I like my steak is weird. I think it's weird that the way I like my steak concerns him. But we've learned how to avoid arguing about it.
You know when you hear that someone's getting a divorce, and one partner says, "I was completely blindsided. I had no idea my spouse was unhappy," and the other says, "My spouse knows perfectly well why we're divorcing! S/he knows that I'm unhappy, and that I've been this way for a long time! This cannot be a surprise!" I understand now how that happens.
What you think you're saying may not be what other people are hearing.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
When Strangers Pick Fights
I try not to engage in any kind of confrontation with strangers. (Frankly, I try not to be contentious even with non-strangers!) It usually serves no purpose other than to make tempers flare.
All of us see and hear things that we find distasteful (or offensive, or harmful) while we're out in public. In general, our best bet is NOT to engage people in arguments. My husband and I both cringe every time we remember hearing a father inform his toddler, "You are no son of mine!" Even three decades later, I am still annoyed by the memory of total strangers who walked up to me and told me that I should not be having children.
Of course, there are exceptions to every rule.
Over two decades ago, I had two daughters in elementary school and an infant son. One day, my son was feeling ill, and it seemed to be getting steadily worse. We phoned his doctor, who, in the absence of an emergency, couldn't see him until almost closing time. After juggling a sick baby with our daughters' after school gymnastics lessons, I made it to the 4:30 appointment. By that time, the baby was feverish, listless and miserable.
We left the office at 5:00 with a prescription, and urging to get it filled as soon as possible, or we'd undoubtedly end up at the emergency room. I don't remember what was wrong - probably bronchitis - but I remember vividly watching him get, very quickly, worse and worse.
My husband, the baby and I picked up our daughters from class at 5:30, and headed straight to Walmart, one of the only pharmacies open after 5:00 p.m. There was no such thing as a 24 hour or drive through pharmacy, at least not in our town, back then. The line at the pharmacy was huge; the pharmacist said, "Yeah, lots of crud going around," when I remarked on it. Due to the volume of customers, she estimated that we had an hour wait to pick up the medication.
We took the children, two of them having simply pulled pants on over their leotards, to McDonald's for dinner, hoping to both fill the time and feed everyone. My son only picked at his food; he was flushed and beginning to wheeze. A trip to the pharmacy window was unproductive - they hadn't gotten to his prescription yet.
We bought and administered some infant Tylenol for the fever, then pushed a cart fairly aimlessly around the store, killing time. Another trip to the pharmacy, and another long line, frayed my nerves. My son's temperature was over 100, and the Tylenol didn't seem to be helping.
Then things got worse - the pharmacy was out of the prescribed medication AND the generic equivalent. "We should be getting a shipment tomorrow." My husband had just taken the baby's temperature - 104. I started getting frantic.
"No, we need it tonight! He's getting worse and worse! Would another Walmart have it?"
"No, we already called around. You'll have to wait until tomorrow, or find another pharmacy."
"But you just said that no other Walmart has it, and all the other pharmacies are closed!" I was picturing a trip to the ER.
"Costco's open. Do you have a membership?"
"Yes! How late are they open?"
"They're open for another 20 minutes."
Of course, Costco was miles away. Luckily, most of them were freeway miles. With luck, we'd get there in time.
We hustled the kids out of the store and into the car. We still had 15 minutes. The baby looked like a wilting flower. In my panic to get to Costco on time, I did something that I never do - I left the shopping cart we'd been pushing him in sitting next to the car.
As the girls were buckling, someone knocked on my window. I expected a panhandler, and prepared to brush them off. I rolled down my window to an irate woman.
"I just watched you get in your car and leave the shopping cart sitting right there!" she said, pointing to the cart.
"I apologize," I said. "I'm in a hurry." I knew that was feeble sounding, but didn't much care.
She was not mollified. "Show some respect! Show some consideration for others!"
"I'm sorry," I repeated.
You know how some people just need to have their say, and once they've said their piece, they calm down? I assumed this woman was one of those people. She was not. She's the kind of person who gets angrier and angrier, the longer she talks. She ramped it up, expressing extreme displeasure at length, and with increasing volume. She informed me, repeatedly, that I was setting a bad example for my children. That wasn't what really bothered her, though. "People like you are the reason we can't even take our car out of our garage!" She proceeded to tell me the brand of her car, and quote its price, which was more than we paid for our first home. "Not everybody drives a piece of s*** like you do! And we can't even enjoy driving it, because of people like you! If I were to take it out, it would get covered in dents and scratches!"
The next thing out of her mouth was, "I have been nothing but nice to you..."
Hold it right there.
I did something I normally don't do. I interrupted, loudly.
"HEY! Criticizing someone's belongings is not being 'nothing but nice'! Swearing at me, especially in front of my kids, is not being 'nothing but nice'!" I had been quiet and deferential, but now I was loud and angry.
"When I walked out here, I had 15 minutes to get across town to the only pharmacy still open at this hour so that I can get medicine for my baby with the 104 degree fever! And you've kept me here talking to you!" I exaggeratedly started the car. In a voice dripping with sarcasm, I said, "Can I go now?" Yes, I know the correct usage is "may I." It didn't matter; I was going to pull out no matter what she said next.
She looked stunned, as if I'd slapped her. I don't think it had occurred to her 1. that someone who shopped at Walmart and drove "a piece of s***" could actually string together a sentence, 2. that I might have something on my mind and agenda more important than scratches on anybody's car, and 3. that yes, indeed, it is rude to swear at people and criticize their belongings. For the first time during the encounter, she lowered her volume and took a step backwards. "Well - I still think you're being a bad example for your children."
"So you said. Can I go now?" I said, putting the car in gear, in a voice that indicated that I was leaving.
"Yeah. Sure."
More sarcasm - "Thank you."
I dislike speed. I dislike speeding. But I practically zoomed out of the parking lot, muttering out loud, "If the pharmacy has closed by the time we get there, I swear... If they are out and we end up at the hospital..." I was incapable of finishing a sentence. My rosy child wheezed in his car seat.
My daughters chimed in. "I don't think you're a bad example, Mom! I think she's a bad example!" "I think her swearing was wrong!"
"Yes, well, all I care about is getting the baby's medicine."
I drove, uncharacteristically, 10 miles over the speed limit. In front of Costco, I practically shoved my husband out the door in front of the store, then parked the car. He dropped off the prescription with 2 minutes to go before closing. In 5 minutes, we had the medicine.
I did not start to truly calm down until an hour later, when the wheezing had stopped, and the baby's temperature dropped below 100.
I hoped that this woman would, the next time she felt like shrieking at someone, ask herself if maybe there were extenuating circumstances, of which she was unaware. We never know what's truly going on with others, folks. Refrain from deciding that you know everything.
And in case anyone wonders, if you tell me that you own a car more expensive than some people's homes, I will not be impressed. I will not think, "Wow, that's so cool," or, "They're so classy. I'm just not as good as they are." I will think, quite frankly, that you're not very good with money. I may also think that you're self absorbed. Possessions are not the way to impress or influence me.
If you ever see a parent hustle their kids out to their car, in such a hurry that they're distracted and leaving their shopping cart behind, just grab it and take it into the store. Then you can rightly feel very proud of yourself.
Also, 24 hour drive through pharmacies (which we now have) are a Godsend.
All of us see and hear things that we find distasteful (or offensive, or harmful) while we're out in public. In general, our best bet is NOT to engage people in arguments. My husband and I both cringe every time we remember hearing a father inform his toddler, "You are no son of mine!" Even three decades later, I am still annoyed by the memory of total strangers who walked up to me and told me that I should not be having children.
Of course, there are exceptions to every rule.
Over two decades ago, I had two daughters in elementary school and an infant son. One day, my son was feeling ill, and it seemed to be getting steadily worse. We phoned his doctor, who, in the absence of an emergency, couldn't see him until almost closing time. After juggling a sick baby with our daughters' after school gymnastics lessons, I made it to the 4:30 appointment. By that time, the baby was feverish, listless and miserable.
We left the office at 5:00 with a prescription, and urging to get it filled as soon as possible, or we'd undoubtedly end up at the emergency room. I don't remember what was wrong - probably bronchitis - but I remember vividly watching him get, very quickly, worse and worse.
My husband, the baby and I picked up our daughters from class at 5:30, and headed straight to Walmart, one of the only pharmacies open after 5:00 p.m. There was no such thing as a 24 hour or drive through pharmacy, at least not in our town, back then. The line at the pharmacy was huge; the pharmacist said, "Yeah, lots of crud going around," when I remarked on it. Due to the volume of customers, she estimated that we had an hour wait to pick up the medication.
We took the children, two of them having simply pulled pants on over their leotards, to McDonald's for dinner, hoping to both fill the time and feed everyone. My son only picked at his food; he was flushed and beginning to wheeze. A trip to the pharmacy window was unproductive - they hadn't gotten to his prescription yet.
We bought and administered some infant Tylenol for the fever, then pushed a cart fairly aimlessly around the store, killing time. Another trip to the pharmacy, and another long line, frayed my nerves. My son's temperature was over 100, and the Tylenol didn't seem to be helping.
Then things got worse - the pharmacy was out of the prescribed medication AND the generic equivalent. "We should be getting a shipment tomorrow." My husband had just taken the baby's temperature - 104. I started getting frantic.
"No, we need it tonight! He's getting worse and worse! Would another Walmart have it?"
"No, we already called around. You'll have to wait until tomorrow, or find another pharmacy."
"But you just said that no other Walmart has it, and all the other pharmacies are closed!" I was picturing a trip to the ER.
"Costco's open. Do you have a membership?"
"Yes! How late are they open?"
"They're open for another 20 minutes."
Of course, Costco was miles away. Luckily, most of them were freeway miles. With luck, we'd get there in time.
We hustled the kids out of the store and into the car. We still had 15 minutes. The baby looked like a wilting flower. In my panic to get to Costco on time, I did something that I never do - I left the shopping cart we'd been pushing him in sitting next to the car.
As the girls were buckling, someone knocked on my window. I expected a panhandler, and prepared to brush them off. I rolled down my window to an irate woman.
"I just watched you get in your car and leave the shopping cart sitting right there!" she said, pointing to the cart.
"I apologize," I said. "I'm in a hurry." I knew that was feeble sounding, but didn't much care.
She was not mollified. "Show some respect! Show some consideration for others!"
"I'm sorry," I repeated.
You know how some people just need to have their say, and once they've said their piece, they calm down? I assumed this woman was one of those people. She was not. She's the kind of person who gets angrier and angrier, the longer she talks. She ramped it up, expressing extreme displeasure at length, and with increasing volume. She informed me, repeatedly, that I was setting a bad example for my children. That wasn't what really bothered her, though. "People like you are the reason we can't even take our car out of our garage!" She proceeded to tell me the brand of her car, and quote its price, which was more than we paid for our first home. "Not everybody drives a piece of s*** like you do! And we can't even enjoy driving it, because of people like you! If I were to take it out, it would get covered in dents and scratches!"
The next thing out of her mouth was, "I have been nothing but nice to you..."
Hold it right there.
I did something I normally don't do. I interrupted, loudly.
"HEY! Criticizing someone's belongings is not being 'nothing but nice'! Swearing at me, especially in front of my kids, is not being 'nothing but nice'!" I had been quiet and deferential, but now I was loud and angry.
"When I walked out here, I had 15 minutes to get across town to the only pharmacy still open at this hour so that I can get medicine for my baby with the 104 degree fever! And you've kept me here talking to you!" I exaggeratedly started the car. In a voice dripping with sarcasm, I said, "Can I go now?" Yes, I know the correct usage is "may I." It didn't matter; I was going to pull out no matter what she said next.
She looked stunned, as if I'd slapped her. I don't think it had occurred to her 1. that someone who shopped at Walmart and drove "a piece of s***" could actually string together a sentence, 2. that I might have something on my mind and agenda more important than scratches on anybody's car, and 3. that yes, indeed, it is rude to swear at people and criticize their belongings. For the first time during the encounter, she lowered her volume and took a step backwards. "Well - I still think you're being a bad example for your children."
"So you said. Can I go now?" I said, putting the car in gear, in a voice that indicated that I was leaving.
"Yeah. Sure."
More sarcasm - "Thank you."
I dislike speed. I dislike speeding. But I practically zoomed out of the parking lot, muttering out loud, "If the pharmacy has closed by the time we get there, I swear... If they are out and we end up at the hospital..." I was incapable of finishing a sentence. My rosy child wheezed in his car seat.
My daughters chimed in. "I don't think you're a bad example, Mom! I think she's a bad example!" "I think her swearing was wrong!"
"Yes, well, all I care about is getting the baby's medicine."
I drove, uncharacteristically, 10 miles over the speed limit. In front of Costco, I practically shoved my husband out the door in front of the store, then parked the car. He dropped off the prescription with 2 minutes to go before closing. In 5 minutes, we had the medicine.
I did not start to truly calm down until an hour later, when the wheezing had stopped, and the baby's temperature dropped below 100.
I hoped that this woman would, the next time she felt like shrieking at someone, ask herself if maybe there were extenuating circumstances, of which she was unaware. We never know what's truly going on with others, folks. Refrain from deciding that you know everything.
And in case anyone wonders, if you tell me that you own a car more expensive than some people's homes, I will not be impressed. I will not think, "Wow, that's so cool," or, "They're so classy. I'm just not as good as they are." I will think, quite frankly, that you're not very good with money. I may also think that you're self absorbed. Possessions are not the way to impress or influence me.
If you ever see a parent hustle their kids out to their car, in such a hurry that they're distracted and leaving their shopping cart behind, just grab it and take it into the store. Then you can rightly feel very proud of yourself.
Also, 24 hour drive through pharmacies (which we now have) are a Godsend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)