A guy waiting behind me at the gas pump today honked at me. I didn’t know he was there, because I was looking at my phone and trying to select music for my drive to work. I didn’t get mad, because, my bad. I was making someone wait. I was at fault.
Had the roles been reversed, with me as the honker and him as the honkee, I’d have been sitting there fuming and waiting for that idiot to get off his phone, too. I would probably be grumbling something like “Move, you fucking jackass.” In my mind, that person would be an idiot, and I’m sure he thought that of me.
We often dismiss strangers as idiots because they’ve made some dumb mistake of the type we all make every day.
I know I’m not an idiot, but that honker behind me doesn’t. That’s all he knows about me, is some dumb thing I did.
We all do dumb shit, though. Several times a day, I’m sure. I barely managed to dress myself today because I put my shirt on backwards and went to turn it around and somehow turned a sleeve inside out. I’m all jerking around, mad at this sweatshirt and calling it names, looking like a mental patient in a straitjacket. Who am I to call somebody an idiot when I see them slipping?
I try not to, but I fail often. Human nature and all that. Sometimes, though, I’m successful. If someone nearly collides with me in a parking lot, and no one got hurt and no damage was done, I try to let it go. Things work out better that way.