Real-World Application

I knew there would come a day when the tools I picked up from my Anger Management class would come in handy... I KNEW it!

Allow me to explain. I use the tools every day, to head off any potential situations in the normal world around me-- the guy who cuts in front of me in line, my daughter and her $200 phone bills, restaurant ripoffs-- you know, normal stuff.

I am referring to the over-the-top behaviors which could lead to violent encounters with dangerous weapons-- exactly the kind of situation I faced the other day, with stunning consequences. Here's the story:

I was bringing my empty cans to a recycling center because it feels good on a couple of levels-- first, I know I'm helping to clean up the Earth; and second, I am getting money back which is taken from me against my will at the checkout counter-- the pricey CRV (California Redemption Value)--which adds a dime to every can of soda I buy (and I buy a LOT).

By the way, when redeeming cans yourself, be certain to check out how much they give. A recycling center, which takes in ALL recyclables, pays by the pound and does not give the best deal. I know I had 280 cans, which at 10 cents apiece comes out to $28-- I received just over $13 for my batch.

That's NOT what this post is about (but it is a friggin ripoff, you selfish bastards).

No, this is about clientele. As you are no doubt aware, the recycling center is the employer for just about ALL of a city's homeless population. And while we've seen countless TV shows which paint the homeless as good people in bad situations, the simple truth is that this category is just a percentage of the whole. Sadly, many psychiatric patients back in the Reagan era were released from hospitals due to lack of funding, and those people who didn't receive some kind of help from family or friends ended up having to survive on the streets as well. Many other causes of homelessness exist, but that's not the focus of this story.

Needless to say, the line at the recycling center was not stocked with patient, polite people. It's a short process, however, so holding one's tongue (and nose, for the odoriferously challenged) is usually the right call to make.

At this center, the routine is a two-step process: When you arrive at the head of the first line, your product is weighed and a slip is handed to you. You then head over to the cashier line to receive your scratch. That's where the incident began.

This particular recycle place was an outdoor yard made up of a series of ten-foot-tall chain-link fenced areas. The cashier's line, for some reason, was like the queue at a Disneyland ride-- it doubled back on itself several times. The fences were covered with sheet metal, so nobody could see to the front of the line.

It was a pretty quiet day and when I got to the cashier's line I seemed to be alone, but standing on that blind, zigzagging path, who could tell? I just walked back and forth, following the path to the end, and right before I got there (with only one turn to go) I could see a bedraggled man standing there, at the switchback, mumbling to himself. There didn't seem to be anyone in front of him, but as I said, the cashier's office was just out of view. I stopped a few feet behind him and waited for a minute, not knowing if he was just in line and waiting for his turn, or if he was simply giving a wide berth to the pork-pie-hat-wearing, purple-polka-dot dragon that he might have been imagining.

So making a decision I will never understand, I said to the man, "Excuse me, are you in line?" an action that had the approximate reaction of sliding a lit firecracker up a cat's ass.

Big mistake.

Anger management class not only taught me how to recognize an emotional buildup in myself, it also helped me recognize OTHER people's physical cues. That was going on with this guy. I watched in alarm his eyes widening, cheeks puffing, face reddening and voice quavering. He leaned in, trembling noticeably, and stared evilly out of bloodshot, alternately blinking eyes. My own eyes watered-- the stench coming from his piss-sodden rags had me perilously close to my retch point-- and he shouted, "FUYOU-RRRRRRR-DONTALKTMEYAFU-RRRRRRRRRR-IKILYA-RRRRR-STEEMYMUNNY-RRRRRRR-IMGONNACUTOUTYURLIVR-RRRRRRRR...," and went on like that for a solid minute, rarely stopping to catch a breath of his own ill wind.

It was a little like getting hit in the face with a moist paper bag of month-old fishheads tossed from a moving truck.

I've mentioned in previous posts that I am not a violent guy by nature, and while that may be, I have never backed away from a little fresh wordplay. If someone had laid into me for no reason that I could fathom, I figured that gave me the right to shoot back with ammunition of my own. I was always quick with the insults to lay my opponent out, and fast on my feet if I couldn't.

Now I realize that what I was doing, while not physical, was abuse as well. It was a deep rage that propelled me-- embarrassment at my low self esteem, shame that my inabilities were visible and panic that they were being broadcast by the oaf before me for all the world to hear.

I like to think I know myself a little better today. Actually I'm sure of it, as my reaction defined my abilities. "It's not what you say that makes you who you are; it's what you do."

What did I do? Well, first I waited for the air to clear, so I could take an uncorrupted breath of my own. Then I looked him straight in the eye, shot him my widest smile and said, "Well, then our business here is concluded, good sir!" Then I strode past him, collected my 13 bucks and returned to my car with pride.

Yes, I actually said, "Good Sir."

I don't think he even heard what I said. That's probably because he emitted another blast of epithet-cum-gargle at my back. I swear it sounded like a foghorn to me. But I didn't care. I was happy! Some stinky bum is cursing at me and I'm smiling on the inside! 

I don't know if this is a tool I learned in class or not, but I've mentioned it in previous entries: I just asked myself how this guy's opinion of me matters in any way, shape or form. The answer is: IT DOESN'T.

And that is the knowledge that pops the balloon of my negative emotions.

I think I'll go skip on the beach for awhile...