I got angry today.
I don’t get angry often; usually I call it “upset” or “irritated.” My temper, I flatter myself, is relatively
cool. But today, I was absolutely
furious, and what’s even rarer, the direct object of my fury was not a concept
or a situation, but a person. He’s a
coworker of mine, and most of our fellow coworkers find him difficult to deal
with. He is brash, self-centered, and
conceited. I say this with full honesty,
though also out of pique. Anyway,
normally I have no problem dealing with this guy. Sometimes I even feel sorry for him, because
he seems to have no idea why other people don’t like him. Today, however, I wanted nothing more than to
get him out of my sight.
I
brought a book with me to work this morning, which will surprise no one who
really knows me—whenever I can get away with it, I bring a book with me
wherever I go. Today’s selection was an
old classic, a Regency romance written by Georgette Heyer. Called “The Foundling”, it is a story set in early 19th century England, with style and plot much owing to Jane Austen--all in all, a classy book. My errant coworker, however, took one look
and exclaimed, “The Fondling? That sounds like a dirty book.” He later found the word “ejaculated” in the
book, and try as I might to explain that this was an old usage referring to
speech and not semen, he loudly teased me for reading a dirty book at
work. The embarrassment and the idiocy I
could have forgiven; what threw me into a rage was that he picked up the book
while I was away and highlighted the “dirty” word in bright yellow.
I’m
sure I surprised him with my reaction. I
carried the book up to him and thrust it in his face, demanding to know what he’d
done. He tried to deny it at first,
which only made me angrier, and I told him not to talk to me for the rest of
the day. I spent a good ten minutes
stomping around the restaurant and complaining to my coworkers, most of whom
were gratifyingly sympathetic. And
though the culprit apologized and ordered me a new copy of the book, I didn’t
even look at him for the rest of the day.
The
interesting—and slightly alarming—thing is, everything that happened only made
me more angry. The apology and attempts
to make amends infuriated me even more—“as if that makes it better!” I snapped
to a friend. Now that I’m finally
cooling off, I can admit that it wasn’t so very terrible, that yes, I am a bit
irrational when it comes to my books, and that it should be possible for me to
forgive him. Even so, I doubt that I
will be able to forget so easily or quickly.
Anger
is a force, like magnetism or gravity, that keeps dragging you back. It takes time and distance to fight free of
it, and while certain people have more difficulty with this than others—no
comment as to which side I’m on—we all have trouble with it. In my case, rationality often comes too
quickly for me. While my intellect tells
me it’s not good to still be muttering under my breath, my fists and teeth
still want to clench and my face still wants to scowl. In a strange way, anger feels good sometimes.
I
think that everyone has a right to anger once in a while. It’s inevitable, after all, and it’s better
to release it at once than to suppress it where it festers. But we have to be careful to put it away
again when it’s time. In the end,
however good it might feel to be angry, it does very little good in our lives
or relationships and is better off as a short spark than a blaze that burns us
out.Photo credit: http://chugginmonkeys.com/here_is_your_pick_me_up/6904
