Today, I have my rage on. Seriously. At 8am, I was that person, striding angrily up Bay Street, muttering to myself with that “WHO wants some? do YOU want some?” glare to all fellow pedestrians, ready to throw down at a moment’s provocation. There is about a 70% chance that this aggression is brought about by pre-menstrual hormones. You know what? I don’t care. It’s all unbridled fury to me.
The Rage Infects Me at Home
Picture it. 6:30am, Weston: my sweetheart JVL kisses me on the forehead and leaves for work. I’m feeling languid and content. The flannel sheets are warm, and the alarm clock is silent. All’s well with the world. I brush my teeth and think, “won’t it be lovely when I go downstairs and my paint supplies are waiting for me, thoughtfully returned as promised yesterday by my roommate A.”
I hear said roommate wake up. He comes out of his room and says “Hey.” I smile and we walk downstairs together. I look around. There are no paint supplies. I look at the absence of paint supplies. I look at A. He looks at the floor. I look back at the empty space where they belong. I move to the kitchen and look there, just in case. Ditto for the hallway. I check the basement, and the laundry room. No paint tray. No brushes. No rollers. While in the basement, I hear the front door shut. A. has left the house before I can “discuss” this with him.
I have had ENOUGH. Returning to the upper floor, I gaze about A’s room, briefly contemplating trashing the place, before concluding that he probably wouldn’t notice the difference. Then, a remark I made in passing over the weekend floats back to me. Give the man a taste of his own medicine. I calmly walk over to the desk, unplug his laptop, and leave the room.
Envisioning the conversation to follow tonight, I see A. asking me if I know where his laptop has gone. I see myself responding calmly with, “Yes, I took it to work with me. But that’s cool, right? Because that’s how we do things around here; take stuff without asking, to unspecified offsite locations, for however long we like, and then return it at our convenience? Because we live in a commune?” When he inevitably gets pissed, I am going to shove his double standard right down his smoke-roasted throat.
Argument #1: But that was my COMPUTER! I only took your PAINTING TOOLS!
Response: Listen, asshole. I don’t care WHAT you want to “borrow”, you freaking ask for it first, and you don’t take it out of the goddamn house. Also? If I ask for it back, like I did, say, Saturday, and again on Sunday, you bring it the hell back RIGHT AWAY. Not, “when you want to”. If you take stuff without asking and don’t bring it back, that is called STEALING. I am not your sister, or your girlfriend, and I am not a lending library. It is not cool to take my belongings just because I have a lot of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t notice, or retaliate. And don’t do it again.
Argument #2: Isn’t this a little extreme, you crazy beotch?
Response: Perhaps. But welcome to ‘the Chicago Way’, son. Let’s examine your “borrowing” history, shall we? You’ve “borrowed” items – CDs, DVDs, backpacks, gaming systems – *repeatedly* from my boyfriend that you taken from the house and have NEVER returned, or offered compensation for. I want to establish right off the bat that this will NOT be our relationship. I am not going to sit idly by while you carouse through my personal effects and decide what you like and want to “borrow”, like you did with my Wu-Tang Clan “Raise the Flag” album, or every pack of matches or lighter we have EVERY BROUGHT into the house. No, sir. Not happening. You bring back my painting tools, you get your laptop back. And hopefully we don’t do this again. I am not eager for this situation to escalate, and I’m sure I have a lot more to lose than you do if it does, but seriously, I will not live in fear of losing my possessions IN MY OWN HOME.
We’ll see how this conflict resolves itself tonight. Or whenever the hell he comes back to the house.
The Rage Follows Me To Work
After I have arrived at work, I’m still a little shaky. I turn on my computer. The following exchange of emails occurs within a 20 minute period. I have left the wording completely intact.
Boss: (to coworker) When is Holocaust Memorial Day this year?
Coworker: (to boss) Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Day (Yad Vashem) begins this year on Wednesday evening, May 4, 2005 and continues Thursday May 5, 2005.
Boss: (to me) Please see this gets integrated into the right calendars, databases, etc.
Me: (to coworker) Actually, May 06, 2005 is Yom HaShoah, also known as Holocaust Memorial Day. I have added it to the calendar.
Boss: (to me) Thanks. Coworker has identified a series of dates and has another name for it – we should ensure they’re both reflected.
Me: (to coworker and boss) Dear Coworker,
Actually, Holocaust Memorial Day stretches from sundown on Thursday May 5th to sundown on Friday May 6th, because it is based on the lunar Jewish calendar.
The day is called Yom Ha-Shoah, from shoah the Hebrew word meaning “catastrophe.” The term is used in Israel, and the Knesset (the Israeli Parliament) has designated an official day, called Yom ha-Shoah, as a day of commemorating the Shoah or Holocaust.
It is remembered by the group known as Yad Vashem (http://www.yadvashem.org/), the Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Authority and observances are held at the geographical memorial location of Yad Vashem, Jerusalem. Yad Vashem is Hebrew for “a hand and a name”, and symbolizes the promise of the God of the Jewish faith to remember and restore all those who have died prematurely or childless.
Coworker: (to me, CC boss) Yes, I know all about it. I did the research for Boss last week as well as putting together the special days, weeks, months paper last year.
Me: (RAGE RAGE RAGE) Aaaahhh no, you obviously DON’T know all about it since you got the date AND name of the day COMPLETELY WRONG and I have the proof RIGHT HERE in this email why can’t you just admit you were WRONG WRONG WRONG RAGE RAGE RAGE
Apparently, I will be filling in the role of “Detester of Humanity” left vacant by
I can empathize with your rage…and I am giggling at the scenerios you’ve thought out in your mind.
Yay! Viking-esque blood rage! Foaming, gibbering, incandescent fury! In any other occasion I’d be nipping down to your office with hot tea and biccies to discuss impending live evisceration, but alas, work beckons. And if you think you’d like fuel for the possibly hormone-induced “don’t take my shit and not return it, you pathetic excuse for fetid pigswill” fire, I can supply you with a little dose of T. -nudge, nudge, wink-
Oh, god, stuuuuuuuuupid, eeeeeeeeeeeeeevil people!
Rage on, dude, it’s totally justified.
Just so we’re clear here — did you actually take roommate A’s computer, or is that part of the fantasy scenario?
If it’s the latter, that’s pretty funny. If it’s the former, it’s even funnier.
Also: I can empathise with your rage. I also now have a much better understanding of why my Dad got so pissed off when I borrowed and lost/broke/neglected to return his stuff — which, now that I think of it, happened a LOT when I was growing up. (Hangs head in shame)
I couldn’t actually descend to his level and TAKE his laptop out of the house. However, I felt I needed a point of entry into the obviously very confrontational conversation he and I desperately need to have. So.
I took his laptop off of his desk, and hid it elsewhere in the house. I intend to open with the gambit that I took it to work, and then when he gets his (rightful) rage on, I will direct his attention to the fact that this is precisely how I have been feeling not only ALL DAY today, and most of this past week, but for the past few months in a much more low-grade, subsumeable, push-it-down-and-ignore-it manner.
I’ve been avoiding portraying myself as “that bitchy girlfriend” or “my inflexible, uncharitable roommate who has a maniacal inability to share”, but dammit, there comes a time when the situation crosses that invisible line and I become “that doormat I live with” or “the girl who has so much stuff she doesn’t even care if I take it and never bring it back”.
And frankly, I don’t like either of those long-winded monikers.
So fuck him.
…bwah. And OMG do I ever know about being *that* lady walking down the street. There have been pms/angry/bitter/whatever days where I become the One Bitch. Scottish temper!
I love it when you’re angry. I fear it too. I’d never want to come between you and your paint supplies….
It’s all just so ridiculous, Kurt. Speaking to you as a scientist: do you often borrow your roommates test tubes, petree dishes and labcoat?
The guy is a PROFESSIONAL HOUSE PAINTER.
How can you paint houses *for a living* if you do not even own your own bloody paint tray and roller? Are these items not essential to the job?
Why would I expect to EVER get these items back from him if he’s using them to make the money he needs to pay rent?
Maybe he’s on a rotating schedule where this week he borrows my materials, and next week he’ll take someone else’s stuff along to work? It just doesn’t make any sense. He’s had them a week already, and I have no guarantee they’re coming home.
Thus, me taking the laptop in return: I am an office worker, but obviously I might not have all the essentials I need to do my work provided for me if I’m freelancing, in which instance I guess it’s perfectly fine for me to take the nearest available computer, printer, filing cabinet, and just huck them around to various office sites.
Maybe when I get home I should “borrow” his desk and office chair, too.
You see my frustration.
I love that you took his computer. I think it’s kind of fun to get your rage on sometimes. You can get away with totally crazy and far-out things that you would *never* even dream of doing when you’re all serene-like and normal.
I commend you. You have the guts to do something that, if I was in the same situtation, I would want to do.
As for him taking your stuff to do his job (when he should have his own in the first place?), THAT — THAT is ludicrous. That’s like a concert pianist not having a piano… except a paint tray costs nowhere NEAR what a piano costs.
You are in the right.
Fortunately, there’ a very short moniker for him. He’s a bum. You live with a bum, and you have my sympathy.
FYI: Twisting a scrotum causes far more damage than squeezing.
Ah, Dave, you are my special rage hero.
Unfortunately, I keep a very strict kosher against my hands touching bums’ scrotums.
I suppose I could use tongs…
wow. that guy is an asshat. so is your co-worker. if i was there in TO i would do my best to help, but alas. let me know if i can do anything to make you feel better 🙂
my sympathies, my dear. rage on.
Archimedes’ “Law of the Lever” teaches us that tongs exert much less force than VISE-GRIP® Locking Pliers. From their site:
Come. To. Jesus.
THAT’S the kind of meeting you have to have. Also? MY Jesus believes in revenge:)
This is what happens when an intimate knowledge of mathematics and physics is married to a Hobbesian view of human motivation:
Disturbingly, I have one of these at home.
Oh — oh god — HATE. That “well you got something right and someone else got it wrong, but let’s put both in the calendar” is, like…. GAAAAAH.
I’m just a few days from Rage myself so I know your pain.
Also: ROOMMATES! Gaaaaah. If I were you I’d also be telling him he could simply choose to pay for you to have new painting equipment on top of this month’s rent.
Yes, alas, Mr. Coworker’s cunning plan of stubbornly protesting his correctness in the face of all reality has strangely WORKED! Nobody called him on it.
I, however, stubbornly refuse to add his utterly fallacious misinformation to the calendar. Someone else can send lies to Cabinet Office: I will not be complicit.
Re: the “pay for it, you bastard” solution… it’s only functional if a) roommate were paying the rent to me (he isn’t), and b) roommate had any money at all to tithe from.
This guy surreptitiously eats our peanut butter and baked beans to survive. He isn’t exactly rolling in mad cash, so there’s no point in me trying to get all feudal on his ass.
Really, all I have to bargain with is the laptop and his Playstation2. I don’t think anything else he owns matters to him or is worth anything.
Yeah, somehow I figured. Still, maybe it would add to the fear.
Or, steal the Playstation and bring it over, because I want to play Katamari Damacy JUST ONCE before I die or my life will have been meaningless. Pleeeeeeease?
Bad roommmates need to be reminded at least once that they cannot swipe stuff without fear of reprisal. My roommate, who is called “stinky” by his friends from college, came home stoned one evening and ate the breakfast burritos I had prepared because I had to get up for class at 5:30 am and wouldnt have time to make myself something to eat. He left a really stupid “sorry man, I was hungry” note on the stove. After fuming at 5:30 in the morning upon discovering my breakfast had been entirely eaten, I royally flipped out on him when I got home. He saw the wrathe in my eyes and has never touched so much as the non-dairy creamer since. So go ahead, demonstrate to A that your things are not his things. Your roommate relationship will be much improved for it.
-caellum
> Yes, alas, Mr. Coworker’s cunning plan of stubbornly protesting
> his correctness in the face of all reality has strangely WORKED!
> Nobody called him on it.
I didn’t realize your co-worker was the President of the United States of America.
Well, sadly we don’t have the game, but I’ll make you a proposition – if you BUY us the game, you get free access to Justin’s new, shiny, ultra-thin PS2 to play it on! Whenever you like!
Deal?
The best part: got it for Christmas from his doofus brother (who I suppose might be reading this, so, hi!). However, I think they worked something else out so we don’t actually HAVE have it.
KHAAAAAAAN
F.Y.I. it’s my desk and office chair.