balding angrily

There are real punch-lines in life, and unfortunately the punch-line of this story is this. I yelled at a stranger, “Because you’re fat and ugly!” I’m not proud of it. And it’s not funny. And it speaks volumes about my character.

Yesterday my sister, Jerry, and I had come back from a day of shopping and movie watching. She was obsessed with taking a picture of a stuffed monkey next to a placard outside our building. I was having none of it. I was feeling ornery, so I stood by the elevator watching the two of them fiddle. Then I was feeling strange and I put my hands at my waist like Superman. Then I was feeling extra strange and I put hands on my ribs like Superman if he were wearing an Empire waist.

While I was experimenting with my midsection, a guy came up behind me. I walked away because I was embarrassed by my heretofore private waist-play. I heard the guy let out a sigh and say in a passive-aggressive loud-whisper, “Jeez. Just standing there…” I ignored him and started walking toward my sister and Jerry. I reached the other side of the lobby and heard him say to our concierge, “I mean he was just standing there. And he didn’t push the button.”

Because there are few things that drive me more crazy than a passive-aggressive loud-whisper, I snapped. I turned back and yelled at him, “You have two able-bodied hands! You could have pushed the button!” (I have a theory that words crowd in the backs of mouths in repose. In times of stress, they flee out. Some words are pushy and quick, escaping before other words. Apparently able-bodied is one of those.)

He showed me what he could do with his two able-bodied hands by flipping me a double-bird. The guard and concierge standing near got closer to us, ready to break up a brawl. I noticed and thought, “I am toast if this guy jumps me.” I blundered, responding with something like, “Don’t show me those!” or, “Yes, I see your hand work!”

He got in the elevator, which came in time to alleviate us of more blundering. As he turned into the elevator, he lobbed back at me, “I would invite you up to help me with my stuff. But you’d probably just stand there!” The doors were closing, and I shot back, “I wouldn’t want to come up because you’re fat and ugly!”

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I was in M.U.N. in my freshman year of high school. M.U.N., Model United Nations, was our school’s version of a debate team. We pretended like we were delegates, made speeches, resolutions, and went to conferences. I hated it. I do not articulate under pressure.