So you order a bran muffin, and they give you blueberry. Does it matter? Don’t you like blueberry muffins? (Well, not as much as bran muffins. Besides, as I said recently, we all need the fiber.) If you complained, how long would it take the waitress to rectify her mistake? And would she spit on your bran muffin while “correcting her error”?
But sometimes it’s good, and refreshing, to blow one’s stack.
I ordered some cheese pizzas for an office party a while back. People were bringing their kids, so we wanted the pizza cut into child-sized pieces. See? Simple. I even dug out a previous order and read it over the phone to the catering lady. And when we picked it up –
They had it ready an hour early, so it had an extra-long time to cool down.
They cut it in Jurassic Park-sized slices.
I ordered four pizzas; they gave me five. In eight boxes. Figure that out.
Last year they charged me $12 per pizza; this year, $25 apiece. No explanation for the price increase.
I lost it at the catering lady. I mostly lost it because she had the nerve to tell me I was getting an excellent deal.
I had to explain to her that, if I order a thing and get something else, it is not a good deal. It is, in fact, a crappy deal.
I get all quotational when I get mad. I found myself saying, apropos the botched order, “It is wrong from beginning to end.” I will give you, dear reader, a gigantic slice of ice-cold cheese pizza if you know what work of literature that line comes from. (No Googling, please!)
So you see? I do rock the boat from time to time.
I’m sure it was very ineffective; I’m sure that catering lady will botch someone else’s order tomorrow. (I saw her in the store a while back. It took me a moment to recognize her, but she recognized me all right; she ran away from my vicinity like a cobra from a mongoose.)
I like being angry from time to time. It's like that Chimney Sweeping Log that's advertised on TV. Anger burns all the soot off my soul, and I feel much cleaner and clearer afterward, and far more serene.