SOMETHINGS GOTTA GIVE...

I think I need anger management, yoga, acid, a belly rub something. It feels like I’m always on edge, stuck in a perpetual state of wartime readiness with Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five whispering in my ear, “Don’t push me cuss I’m close to the edge, I’m trying not to lose my head.” I wait, not so patiently, for someone to set me off.

Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from my friend Steve. He asked me to collaborate on a new photo project—an idea that truly speaks to the hidden parts of my soul. I’m understating when I say it should have made the best start to my day. It gave me the good energy I needed to breeze through the rest of it on a high.

But, at the same time I was talking to Steve, I was standing inside the new Bank of America branch in my neighborhood. In front of me was what they called a Professional Teller. My question: Are there amateur tellers messing with my money? And what does it even take to go pro?

Anyway, there I was, facing this “Professional Teller” who, with all my heart, I believe was trained by drunk monkeys let loose on the community to inflict maximum pain, frustration, misinformation, and stupidity—safely barricaded behind a spit and bulletproof glass divider.

So while I’m talking to Steve, this teller tells me something that sets me off. WOW. Did I go off. It happened so fast I didn’t even realize I still had the phone to my mouth while I had this full-blown conniption fit. Poor Steve, the calm, collected, patient Buddhist that he is, got the full brunt of my wrath. The branch manager came over to whisper calming words, which only enraged me more.

It was at that moment I knew I was really going off. Then I realized Steve was still on the phone. I told him I’d call back, hung up, and let loose on both the teller and the manager like they had just insulted my mother in a way that would get me found not guilty for murder on grounds of temporary insanity.

Here’s the thing though — it wasn’t that serious. Yes, they fucked up, but they always fuck up. I think I attract stupid people. Maybe it’s God’s way of keeping my verbal assault skills sharp. The crazy part is I am a master of the calm and firm “dialogue” — more like me getting in your ass than a real discussion, but we’ll call it dialogue for appearances. It probably helps that I’m a 6 foot 2, 250+ pound black man with a Mohawk and a face that screams, “Fuck with me if you want to! I eat people for fun.”

So yes, I got my way. But I could have gotten it without losing it. And that is exactly what happened—I lost it. I had zero control, and that is not cool.

What made it worse was that I wasn’t even that mad. As soon as I walked out, I was right back to being geeked about Steve’s photo idea. I wanted to go back and apologize, but I wasn’t ready to allow them to excuse their stupidity and contradictions with a casual “it’s all good.”

I do think I will go tomorrow though, just for my own soul. I don’t like what’s going on or where this is headed. I think, correction, I know I need to do something about it. Guess it’s just a matter of figuring out what.

Does anyone know where I can get some acid? Hippies seem so happy and relaxed. I’m going for that. Or maybe I’ll just make my own porn with chemistry instead—that seems like it could lead to some serious Happy Happy Joy Joy me.

UPDATE

So I did it. I woke up early today, went back to the bank hat in hand, and apologized—to the “Professional Teller” (I don’t care, that is still funny) and the branch manager for unleashing the wrath of the heavens on them for no real reason.

As I apologized, they kept telling me it was okay. They said there was no need for it. They had moved past it and understood my frustration from all the issues trying to complete what should have been a simple transaction.

I realized the apology was less about them and more about me. I was apologizing to myself for letting it all spiral, losing my composure, and with it, my self-respect.

I’ve always loved, but not necessarily lived by, the proverb: “When you argue with a fool, no one watching can tell which is which.”

I am tired of being seen as the fool.

GVG
~we’re the warriors they write epics about~