“The kitchen closed three minutes ago.”
And those, dear readers, are the words that nearly sent me over the edge.
Back on Day Five, I wrote about outsized irritations. This is Part Two, when the furies pile up to the point that tears start to well up in your eyes, your fists ball up, and you’re about three seconds away from throwing your probiotic soda across the room. I was going to write about something else entirely today, but this is probably a topic worth at least a few days.
The pile of irritations that befell me this afternoon isn’t important. Just know that I was called ma’am twice by two different customer service folks in the span of an hour. When did I become a ma’am? I am wearing jogger pants and cute rain boots! My hair is in a messy bun! I’m not a ma’am; I’m a miss!
I have always been hyper-conscious of what others think about me in stressful moments. I want to be the calm one, cool under pressure. Nothing hectic to see here! I’ve got it all under control! Maybe you can tell by my overuse of exclamation points that there’s something I’m desperately trying to overcompensate for.
I come from a long line of angry women. They are emotive women, passionate women. Rumor has it that at some point, one of my ancestors pushed her husband’s mistress into a fireplace, scarring her for life. One of my earliest, angriest moments was in preschool when the boy I considered my “boyfriend” got to be a lamb in the Christmas nativity play and was placed next to a girl playing an angel who I was convinced was trying to steal him away. It did not matter that I had the role of Mary. I would have preferred to play a cow in the manger if it meant I got to keep a closer eye on those two. I was literally playing the starring female role, THE MOTHER OF JESUS, and my anger is the one thing I can remember about that performance. I bet my anger brought an intensity to the role that was never surpassed at the school. I was the Meryl Streep of St. Peter’s Day School.
There are a few different types of anger. Self-righteous anger is a favorite—it’s so intimately close to martyrdom (see: yesterday). These rude salespeople, the loud talkers, the dude who took my parking space… they’re all out to get ME, and I am the victim here. And then there is just plain, random anger—it’s raining on my birthday, there’s traffic, I stepped in mud, and it seeped into my shoe. The latter doesn’t have to escalate. I can usually sweep it off and find the good. But the former? Whoo, boy, buckle up.
Jesus got angry. He raged. But, he didn’t rage about donkey traffic or muddy feet. He washed feet (a Maundy Thursday tradition I’ve never entirely subscribed to, but to each their own). His anger was righteous. There are so many things that deserve our anger in the world. There are so many things I care about—things that break my heart and make my pulse quicken when I think about them. Things like racism and hypocrisy. Things like economic injustice, classism, and greed. These are the same things that got Jesus riled up; he didn’t flip the tables and then just peace out, though. He didn’t get mad at a fig tree without explaining why he was so worked up. Instead, every time he got angry, he used it as an opportunity to inspire, teach, and grow others. He channeled his righteous, justified anger into words that drew others into the movement. Every burst of anger was a reaction to a legitimate cause, but no shot was ever wasted. Wasting the reserves of our passion and anger on self-righteous or unrighteous things is such a shame.
So when this bored teenage cashier told me the kitchen had already closed, even though the hours posted gave me another 30 minutes, and did not follow that up with any explanation, alternative, or nicety — I could feel my eyes stinging, and words in my throat ready to attack. I paid for my soda, sat down, and thought, “is this anger justified?” No. It’s not. Annoyance? Sure. But all the way to anger? Not even close.
Why was I so angry? Well, I was hungry. I was hungry because I had waited too long to eat. I was hungry because I ran 12 miles that morning, hadn’t adequately fueled during the day, had waited until the last minute to eat, and wasn’t thinking straight. I was angry because the closing time didn’t match the website, and I hate misinformation. I can help to fix that; I can help to solve a problem instead of stewing in my smugness. Because that’s what some forms of anger are—a belief that we are better than the people who make us angry.
My prayer today, when I go home and finally eat something, is that God will direct my energy towards the things of the world that justify anger and relieve me of the visceral reactions of rage. We’re children of God, and getting angry over a closed kitchen is so beneath us. Who would want to be around anyone who blows up over the tiniest thing? We’re called to be a light in the world, not a raging fire destroying everything in its path.