Finding calm in the storm

            I realized I might be over the edge when I stood behind an elderly lady in the drugstore line, tapping my feet and rolling my eyes as she was taking forever to decide between writing a check or using a credit card.

            I was convinced I was out of control when the slow cashier – who made the mistake of asking me if I wanted to apply for a store credit card – got the full brunt of my exasperation when I grabbed my shopping bag out of her hand and stomped out of the store.  

            Did these two not realize the people in the line at five in the afternoon were hungry and tired?

            Two miles down the road, I realized I'd left one of the shopping bags in the store. I was too far down the road in heavy traffic to go back, and I let out a scream in frustration.

            People are so stupid, I fumed as we all came to a grinding rush-hour halt. My mood didn't improve as I looked at the people in the cars around me.

            One young girl was checking the messages on her cell phone. Typical, I thought.

            A young woman in another car was talking on her cell phone. Figures, I thought.

            One man was hunched over his mini van's steering wheel, his head turned to one side as he stared out the window. I know how you feel buddy, I thought.

            Horns were blaring, but that was a far distant noise because my thoughts kept guiltily returning to the elderly lady in the line. Her only crime was being a little addled. She wasn't purposefully out to get me, so why had I blown a fuse.

            The rationalizations kicked in. I was tired. I was running late. The sales clerk was a moron.

            These weren't answers.

            They were excuses.

            I looked again at the people around me. The young girl checking her cell phone was driving a beat-up car, and there was a community college tag hanging from her rear-view mirror. Instead of thinking she was gossiping , maybe she was reassuring her mother she was on her way home.

            The young woman on her cell next to me was laughing, totally tuning out the frustration I'd been feeling. I realized she'd found the silver lining in the traffic situation.

            The man hunched over his steering wheel looked exhausted. Perhaps he'd been up since dawn, making the commute to a job so he could support his family, putting his needs behind the needs of his family.

            I could be wrong about all these people, but just thinking their path was worse than mine opened up a flood gate of empathy and the anger left. In its place was shame, so I made a promise that the next time I was in line, I'd remember the manners my mother taught me and not take out my bad mood on an innocent person.

            The next day, I was in line at the grocery store and found myself behind an elderly gentleman. He was fumbling with the change in his pocket and apologized for taking so long.

            "That's no problem, sir," I said. "You take your time. I'm in no hurry."

            He smiled and so did I. That little change in attitude on my part made all the difference in the world to both of us. I can't guarantee my frustration won't boil over again, but there was calm in the check-out line instead of anger.

            And calm in my soul.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.