We've all been there: you're standing patiently on the deli counter line thinking about the three hundred other errands you need to run when an exuberant and oblivious college student, full of his youth and new-found independence leans in, presumably to look at the Swiss cheese selections, and places his order right there in front of you. You simmer, and steam, and think of a thousand things except the right thing to say.
You drive home trying to shake the scene from your head, but it's stuck. You know there was something you could have said that would have politely yet firmly expressed your anger, illuminated his oblivion, and gotten him to back down: you were there first; too bad about his exam, he should have been studying all along; and, right now, I am a tetchy old lady! And then you beat yourself up the whole way home for not finding the right words when you needed them.
"Maybe he's in a hurry because he has an exam
tomorrow." "Maybe he was here before me, and
I didn't see him." "I don't want to sound like a
tetchy old lady." "Oh, it's too late to do anything
now, the order is placed."
You drive home trying to shake the scene from your head, but it's stuck. You know there was something you could have said that would have politely yet firmly expressed your anger, illuminated his oblivion, and gotten him to back down: you were there first; too bad about his exam, he should have been studying all along; and, right now, I am a tetchy old lady! And then you beat yourself up the whole way home for not finding the right words when you needed them.
Then it hits you: "Oh, goodness! Silly me! I must have forgotten to take off my invisibility cloak this morning! Ought to remember that the next time I come to the grocery store."
Or the sad encounter during which you learn from your much younger boss that you were passed over for promotion because your cover letter was not compelling enough for him to turn it over and look at your resume. As the humiliating scene unfolds, you think to yourself, "Watch what you say because he is your boss." "Well, it is a cover letter. It should make the employer want to know more about you." "Maybe that cover letter really wasn't my best."
Feeling uncomfortable about the conversation the whole way home, you stew and mull, and then it hits you. "Don't talk to me about compelling cover letters! Honey, I was teaching cover letters while you were in training wheels!"
All kinds of social conventions and insecurities filter our natural responses. Be polite. Respect authority figures. Everyone makes mistakes. Maybe I was wrong. The Italian Mama has been thinking about another one: the inclination some people have to think the best of other people, to believe that everyone does their job competently, has the community's best interest in mind, tells the truth, and acts honorably. These beliefs inhibit our gut reactions, which we ignore at our peril. On the other hand, if you go around believing that everyone is incompetent, egotistical, and self-absorbed, it's easy to let those zingers fly.
But do you want to harbor such an unflattering view
of your fellow journeymen? The Italian Mama thinks
not. Carrying around all of that negativity might just
mire you in the muck.
Armed with this new awareness of the reasons for holding my tongue, the Italian Mama is old enough to judiciously weigh the cost/benefits of hurling a zinger. Choosing to remain silent may deny the fleeting satisfaction of calling out the ignorant but may be the result of a more sunny view of humanity. And that's nothing to beat yourself up about.
