There are times in my life when my Buddhist Persona is relegated to a back burner, while my Inner Bitch comes to the fore, causing my blood-pressure to spike and spew profanities like Linda Blair in the Exorcist.
This is no more indisputable than when I am driving. One minute I am on a road to Nirvana, and the next on a road to the supermarket.
At this point I am about as Buddhist as Cheney is a Liberal.
Can you turn off your blinker, you blinking idiot?
Your license plate says Alumni - Harvard, but your Yugo says Loser! Btw, it should be Alumnus, or are there two of you congenital cretins in the car?
Why don’t I take a nap while you decide whether you want to go left or right?
It gets progressively worse when the Californian clouds overhead drop their annual five drops of rain. Slowpokes drive even slower. Windshield wipers go faster. Brake lights go on every five seconds. Everywhere I go, the comment: Would ya even look at the rain!! Nope, I mutter. Sorry, it evaporated before it even touched my head.
When I go shopping, it is as if they let the retards out at the same time.
There is a lady in front of me at the check-out, rifling through her purse the size of a small cave, wearing extraterrestrial sunglasses, which, for rummaging purposes, means that she is legally blind. She is revealing the evening’s plan in excruciating detail, loud enough for the whole store...and the county to hear. Is it really necessary to tell everyone the story of your life and who is coming for dinner, and what you are going to cook? We do not care if you are going to serve an enema. Be sure to take two yourself.
It is now my turn. The clerk at the check-out counter has braces and a faux-hawk, two plugs the size of manholes in his ears and a grotesque tattoo on his neck to successfully complete the bizarro look he was aiming for. Is it really necessary to use a calculator to decide how much change to give me back from a dollar?
I wonder how he got through second grade.
When I go to Italy, the word ‘sciopero’ strikes terror in my heart – note clever use of pun. What kind of people can strike and bring chaos and confusion to an already chaotic and confused nation? The answer is those who are directly involved with your vacation plans. The chances of any mode of transportation going on a wildcat strike is directly proportionate to how important it is for you to get from one place to another. Would you believe that they have a national website with a calendar of upcoming strikes? The reader is advised to learn how to shrug like the Italians, include a few hand gestures (obscene ones obligatory in this case) and say “Ci arrangiamo” like they do, and go and have a macchiato.
When I go to India, my Inner Bitch is on steroids and pms-ing at the same time. Why don’t Indians have a sense of personal space? Is it really necessary for you to come and stand so close that I can tell what you had for lunch (garlic papad) and also which deodorant you are NOT wearing? Is it really necessary to come and sit right next to me, when there are a hundred empty seats in the lounge/waiting room/movie theater? And let’s talk about their sense of punctuality...or lack thereof. Indian Standard Time runs not on a different clock, but on a different calendar. Maybe our forefathers had something there with the Second Amendment. The right to bear an AK47 looked pretty tempting last time I was in India and spent five hours in the FRRO office for one stamp in my passport. Long story. Another blog.
Did I drink the Hatorade? my kids ask me. My husband tells me to chill, to cut it out, to calm down, to take a deeeep breath. But they don’t understand. I have things to do and places to go and people to feed and bills to pay and calls to make and clothes to wash (and Jeopardy to watch)... and everyone is in my way and I am running out of time...and patience. Out of my way!!!
The thought of going postal is imminent and taking everyone out with me. So I will not be going up to to Nirvana...more likely taking the elevator straight down to Hell. I take a deep breath and think of all what Thich Nhat Hanh taught me. Be in the here. Be in the now. But that is exactly where I am, and I want out!
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