It started with Road Rage, that increasingly common occurrence which takes place when a driver runs out of patience and throws a temper tantrum behind the wheel. It might be provoked by being cut off, tailgated or stuck behind an elderly driver who considers any speed over 25 miles per hour excessive. Maybe some madman on a mission keeps honking his horn to push you from his path or some thrill-seeking teenager peels by, flipping you the bird.
Perhaps you passed a trucker who took it as a personal insult to his manhood. You catch his evil grin when you check your rear-view mirror and discover you’re about to be rammed by a big rig. How about that woman in the minivan who tears past you at the mall to steal the parking space you’ve been staking out for the past twenty minutes? We all get peeved at such inconsiderate louts. It’s how we handle our frustration that separates the crass from the courteous.
A Milwaukee cab driver recently ran over a passenger’s luggage because he thought his tip was too small. In my home state of Massachusetts, a tailgating incident turned deadly when the party who felt aggrieved whipped a crossbow out of his trunk. It’s a major problem with devastating consequences but it’s not just limited to the highway.
It has to do with our fast-paced lifestyles. With too much stress at home and work, it seems we’re always running late for something. A life run by a ticking clock can turn into a ticking time bomb. Rattling around in our overstressed minds are such slogans as, “Don’t be a wimp!” “Don’t let them push you around!” “Assert yourself!” and “First come, first served.”
Lately I’ve been witness to Supermarket Rage when a woman in the 12 Items or Less Express Line counted 13 articles in the shopping cart ahead of hers and started throwing produce. I saw Waiting Room Rage firsthand when a man sitting next to me at the doctor’s office for over an hour started spitting expletives and shredding old copies of People Magazine. “I’ll show you the 100 Most Beautiful People of 1998!” he fumed, his blood pressure boiling over. One of the most patient and compassionate men I know turns into Attila the Hun at airports, employing his carry-on duffel bag as a battering ram to push his way through the crowds. I’ve also seen Line Rage at restaurants when would-be diners got hot-tempered with the hostess after deciding that a 40 minute-wait could cause them to drop from starvation right in their tracks.
I have my triggers too, those incidents which make me want to go postal. “Your call is important to us,” drones that robotic voice which interrupts the elevator version of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” every five minutes as I hang forever on hold, waiting to talk to my insurance agent. Then there’s that eardrum-shattering whistle which greets me if I dial the wrong area code when making my reminder calls to customers.
Just the other night, I had an attack of Remote Control Rage after surfing all 50 channels to find nothing but football, discussions on Monica Lewinsky and fading movie stars doing infomercials. (We know your beauty products are fabulous, Cher, but could your frequent face-lifts have anything to do with how great you look?)
The thing that really scares me is the specter of Grooming Shop Rage. The other day I had a client who was absolutely abusive because she showed up on the wrong day with her Standard Poodle and decided it was our fault. Another woman tersely told me “My dog brought home Kennel Cough the day he got groomed in your shop.” She was adamant, even after I explained to her that Infectious Tracheobronchitis has a five-to-seven day incubation period. “I’m telling you, he got it here!” she fumed. Call me crazy but all I could think of was “Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup.”
My daughter Missi has encountered the phenomenon with stressed-out commuter types who pound their fists on the door because she does not wish to open early, at least not until she turns on the lights and checks her phone messages. Then there are the ones who want instant service when they pick up their pets, even if they are early and there are several clients ahead of them. Not surprisingly, such high-maintenance folk breed similar offspring. “Get my dog now!” bellowed one such pint-sized prodigy as I processed his mother’s credit card. Thankfully for us, such cranky clients are a tiny minority.
There are strategies to combat rude encounters. In the case of Road Rage, know when to get out of the way. Practice being hard-of-hearing when some belligerent bully rolls down the window to impress you with his colorful vocabulary. If you notice a conga line of vehicles hanging off your bumper, by all means, pull over. And never be a smartmouth with a state trooper.
Since you are so often on the other side of the counter, put yourself in the deli clerk’s shoes when some pushy patron ignores the number system. Have some empathy for the waitress who brought you the overcooked steak. While using the phone, give yourself a manicure while hanging on hold. Take deep cleansing breaths while in line at the movies. Don’t anticipate the worst in people. Raise your expectations. Expect that travel agent to book you a cheaper flight. Smile at that checkout clerk and ask how her day is going.
Just last week, I had to go to the Registry of Motor Vehicles, a transaction people in my state compare to a nighttime parachute drop behind enemy lines. I decided to give positive thinking a shot. I told my daughter I expected to be treated with courtesy and efficiency. She told me I shouldn’t be sipping the cooking Sherry so early in the day.
Amazingly, I was in and out in fifteen minutes, new plate in hand. The registry clerk smiled and told me to have a nice day. Sure, I was shocked but not nearly as much as the guy in line behind me. He showed up in full battle fatigues, accompanied by a Rottweiler named Spike and carrying a box lunch under his arm.