It’s been an interesting few days, with twists and contradictions and I have not wanted to write. I am so tired of the fallout, emotional and physical, and the incessant purposeful reminders of things I want to forget. I want to say simply please leave me alone and allow me to heal, but I do not. I’ve been trying not to fill this blog with regret and with sadness, so I was unable to write until my frustration and anger forced out another sarcastic story, and here you go…
I’ve been sitting with an auditor for what feels like 100 hours and FYI, she “highly recommends” that I do every single thing I do a little bit differently. Each time she said “highly recommend” she used unnecessary air quotes and gave me a fake smile and I wanted to spill coffee on her pretty winter white pants. However, I did not, and for that I think I deserve a treat. I spent the first 99 hours of this conversation challenging her “recommendations” because they were, at best, nominal changes that would not result in any material improvements but she was equal to the task, and no amount of logic was going to persuade her differently. The last hour I was a beaten woman, just mutely nodding, whimpering and biting my tongue so that I could get her out of my office.
Patience isn’t my best feature (it’s my calves) – if you ask my friends, they would agree. I mean, you threaten to stab a stranger for taking a phone call in a movie theater ONE TIME and you get a reputation. In my defense, I think we can all agree that people who leave their phones on during movies and answer calls deserve what they get. I don’t know you, but I am 99.9% sure that call isn’t important (you answered it by saying “dude…what’s up”) enough to interrupt the movie, even if that movie is based on a Nicholas Sparks novel. Well, maybe then.
Anyway, this happened, and if I haven’t mentioned it before, I have an almost clinical inability to ignore things that irritate me. So this tool answers a call and then gets up to leave, but then just goes and sits down in the aisle and proceeds to have a full on conversation. There is no way I’m capable of just ignoring this, so I get up to go do something about this but then thought, what am I going to do? Ask a 16 year old usher to do something about it? No, I decide to take care of it myself and my polite request to go in the lobby quickly turned ugly and he tripped over his own feet running away from the scary 5’2” lady. I went back to my seat, sank down next to Stacey and said “I might have overreacted” without looking at her. We now call this IR, which stands for irrational rage, and it fits more scenarios in my life than I want to readily admit.
Patience seems overrated, and a little lazy, but that’s just my opinion.