Handling Rage


I am furious!

Fury for an Aries is quite usual, but it takes a special set of circumstances for that fury to agglomerate and become sticky and heavy. Further, something that viscous simply must be brought out into the open from whence it came!

I can either start a random fist-fight… or I can just type away my angst here, allowing this rage to trickle onto the blank screen, fooling myself into thinking that the more letters form on this screen, the more the instigators of this wrath shall suffer.

So here’s what happened my objective reader.

I entered a store on Hamra (Beirut). I had a shopping bag with me. I was offered to use a basket instead, but was on the phone and dismissed the offer. Seconds later, as I’m on the phone, my bag is taken from me by some 40-something year old unabashedly sporting uneven dies of blond on her pimply head.

I struggled to make some sense of this, I was turning around, with brands and candies glaring back at me, dizzying, demanding, colorful. Then I turn back around and find the woman’s husband/brother/ball and chain glaring at me like I was some sort of parasite he so heroically discovered, siphoning the bountiful artificial sugars of his wares.

He asked me, “Is this your bag?”

I told him yes, and what’s going on? What’s the problem?

He handed me my bag and told me ‘you’re welcome’ but did he mean it? Nay. Nay I say! He gestured me to leave as his sidekick stared at me to see how I will react. To see how I, this intruder, will carry himself after being dealt a swift dose of justice by her bald master.

I’m a polite fellow. But I decided to stop being polite. I decided to speak up. I told them, and this is a rough translation,

“Do not dare dream of my step gracing this place again!”

And I left briskly. Managers. Outsiders with a claim.

The cashier and I exchanged looks of sorrow, because he was such a nice guy, a Syrian metalhead. They don’t grow on trees. Hell, neither do I. But managers grow on trees.

They weren’t even well-dressed managers! I expect stupidity from the aristocratic, but from the bourgeoisie? I would’ve expected them to treat me nicely, I am a sack of cash with two legs after all! Any manager knows that!

Oh the looks on their faces when they try to look at the videotaped archives of my business. They’ll see I graced their narrow plastic halls many, many times.

But oh this rage! Where shall it go?! Who’s poor dignity shall I whip with my lashing tongue?!

I use shopping bags because I want to help the environment! And I use them all the time. Even in that very store!

I guess I’m furious because of this little classic combination: Being accused of ill-intention, and the accuser being unaware of my good intentions for the environment. That and his refusal to listen to reason. Ugh. Am I not worth your time?

Am I not worth your time?

Look at me! Look into my eyes! Am I not worth your stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid time?!


… well, at least something came of all this rage… and you’re welcome : )

Toufic Sarieddine is a regional intern at the World Youth Alliance Middle East.