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Saturday, February 04, 2006
I have been sitting here this morning trying to finish a posting I started on Thursday. I saved it, started it, changed it, all that. The message was about how a guy felt it was his God-drivewn destiny to tell me that my multi-billion dollar company was doomed to failure after 60 years because we didn't open the garden center register when the temperature outside was 43 and it was raining, in February, at 9am in the middle of the week. In other words, wasn't anybody shopping out there, and this guy was righteously indignant about having to walk around somewhat to go in. Not only that, after talking to me about it, he went to the front and demanded to see a manager, which to his suprise was me, so I was given the benefit of hearing part II of grave insult that we, as a company and me personally, had inflicted upon his over-inflated ego. But that's not what I want to talk about. I kept trying to type up what I thought about the guy, how I thought that he was stupid, or overly self-important, or both. The more I tried to put it into words, the madder I got, here almost three days later. That's what is stupid. I let an incident that should have been over get under my skin. I think it's because I know that I am right. I was doing what made the most economical business sense at the time, besides being under direction from corporate to operate exactly as specified that day. I have a problem letting it go knowing that the asshole thinks he was right. Why do I let these things get to me like this? I started working on the piece I had saved, and could actually feel myself getting more and more tense, and nervous, and mad, and could actually feel me pulse getting harder and faster. That's awful. I don't want to be this way, but sometimes I can't help it. I actually feel sometimes that if I could cry some a day or two later, it would be over. That's probably what I ought to do. Oh, well. I'll find a way.
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