This day began rather well for me. I left for work knowing I was forgetting something. Didn't remember what until I reached for my lunch in the passenger seat and found it wasn't there. No worries. I quickly call home and request a lunch delivery from my husband. Plan B is on the ready if he isn't available. "Good problem solving," I say to myself.
Suddenly, during third period, my cell phone silently vibrates in my pocket. This is a rare occurrence and reserved for emergencies. I inconspicuously check the number. It isn't one I recognize. I let it go. The caller is insistent. When she calls again, I jump and make a slight gasping noise. I blush now to think of how it might have looked to others. My jeans pocket doesn't vibrate often.
This time, I decide I must respond. I step outside the classroom to take the call. From the first few words, I know that this caller is not happy. It's Kaiser calling about an appointment reminder. She called home first and reached my husband. She launched in about how rude he was. I took a deep breath and held my tongue. I wanted to say, "Well, if you started talking to him in the tone you're using when talking to me, I'd say you lit that fuse."
I think about what it means to be assertive and if it's worth the heartache in this case. I decide to keep my thoughts to myself. My diplomatic customer service professional comes to the scene and apologizes for the unpleasantness she experienced and say, "He must just be having a bad day. I'm really sorry." I listen to her vent until she starts to calm down and then redirect her to the reason for her phone call. All the while, I think to myself, that Kaiser really needs to do a little more customer service training. She ends up exhaling, laughing slightly and thanking me for being so understanding. I coo soft words back but think that I did all the work here. Maybe I should submit a bill for therapeutic services rendered.
I go back in the classroom wondering what story my husband will need to get off his chest when I next catch up with him. The bell rings and I get to find out. Husband is in parking lot with my forgotten lunch. I tell him I got a call from an upset Kaiser employee. "Wow", he says. "You wouldn't believe how rude she was to me, first!"
I think to myself, "Your fuse is rather easily lit but . . ." I say out loud, "Yeah, I figured she wasn't the most diplomatic. She started off kind of rough with me. Don't let it bother you. She must have been having a bad day."
He turns down my invitation to join me for lunch in the staff lounge. I'm secretly relieved. I need some space to recharge my battery. Being a therapist is hard work.
Once I get to the lounge, my lunch buddy is reading the newspaper. I'm fine with a low key, non-talkative lunch. When you work in noisy classrooms filled with mindless chatter, not talking becomes more appealing. Even more appealing is not having to listen. One of the regular substitutes sits within my peripheral vision. I dread what I know will come, Words! His words! He can supply an almost endless stream of them. Part of me doesn't want to be rude or cruel but honestly, buddy, I don't want to talk politics or newspaper articles right now. I just want to eat lunch and find a safe haven from those who seem to be suffering from bad case of crabby. Fortunately, I don't sit facing him. I use this as an excuse to face forward, nod obliquely and keep on eating and focusing on newspaper articles that I'm not really reading. Yes, I know it probably telegraphed some form of rudeness but this is my lunch too, people! When he doesn't successfully engage either of us in lunch-time discussion, he leaves and I enjoy the remaining 5 minutes of lunch time in a more relaxed frame of mind.
Wait, the day wasn't done with me yet. I had to be called, "stupid" first. The young man behind those words wasn't really frustrated with me as much as he was with himself. He just didn't know that yet. He got very short with me when I came to bring him back to English class. When I reminded him that his tone was unpleasant and he needed to think about how he was sounding, he called me, "Stupid." Now, I know I'm not stupid. I know he was frustrated and I was an easy target but I had to take a mental break, give the "Stupid" remark some space and think about my response. I just wanted to clobber him. I'm starting to really understand why some people snap and "GO POSTAL."
I gave this incident a bit of time. When I next see the young man behind the "stupid", I tell him simply, "I'm happy to help you but when you speak disrespectfully to me, I will not. Your behavior was inappropriate."
He slunk back to his desk, muttering things under his breath. I didn't listen. I didn't want to know what more he might have to say about me or my character. How could he know how much I hate being the grown up, the authority figure? I hate it almost as much as I hate being called, "STUPID!" Fortunately, that hatred is my problem, since I may be many things, some not-so-good, but stupid. . . is rarely one of them.
Staying after school, I send an e-mail to the teacher who oversees myself and this student. I'm clear about my need for respect. Thinking this may warrant a personal touch as well, I hurry to catch the teacher before he rides his bike into the sunset at the end of another day. (Personally, I think this guy deserves a medal. He is amazing and really has to deal with some truely difficult situations.) In an ironic goodbye, I find myself complaining about all the crabby people in my life. Instantly, I see that this is calling the proverbial kettle, "black."
Cranking up the happy tunes, I take the long way home and do some deep breathing. I entered the house, heavily ladened by the day and proclaim, "No crabby people are allowed near me. I will tolerate no complaining this evening. No one is allowed to crap on my happy." Inhaling a slice of peanut butter toast, I channel my frustration with all the crabby people into writing this entry. Now, that it comes to a close, I will join my son in "killing enemy agents" in a James Bond video game. I will have my revenge after all. Death to all you, evil villians. Death to National Crabby Day!
No comments:
Post a Comment