Conditioned Maturity in the Face of Genetic Inferiority

I was once asked out on a date by a fellow co-worker who is easily twice my age. He is a nice man, a former hippy, and has a daughter close to my age. I handled it all wrong. Hooooey, did I handle it wrong! I wanted to classify and clarify that I would accompany him to see a movie (as a friend), but that I had no intention of "dating" him. He said that he doesn't live his life like that, that he can't make determinate statements such as "I will never be romantically involved with you". I told him that I can, and do. It was shortly after my divorce, and I knew that I couldn't placate people. I couldn't make others happy by pretending I was something other than I am. I had decided that I eventually want children, and I wasn't the least bit interested in him romantically, or sexually. I knew that I never would be for a variety of other reasons. I forget the order of events, but ultimately I told him I had to think about it, and when I finally had the courage to tell him no, he was so completely angry that he told me I was off the hook before I could have a discussion with him.

Time has passed, and we're once again comfortable acquaintences. But, something he said to me at one point during the unfolding of those uncomfortable events has stuck with me. He told me that no matter how old your body gets, you still feel young inside. As you get older, you become surprised with the old face that looks back at you in the mirror because you still feel the same inside.

I looked in the mirror today and paused. Who the hell is that woman? She's a grownup! When on earth did that happen, and where was I? Of course, when I really think about it, I've had a lot of experiences. This age (and I realize that I'm not elderly) didn't exactly sneak up on me, but...sometimes it's all a blur. I really have to think about how I got here, and when exactly I become an adult.

For that matter, when will I start acting like one?

Sometimes I act like one.
For instance: Today I had this miserable old man at a table. These people come into a nice restaurant and ask me first thing if they can order dinner and have it served to them in time for them to eat it and be out the door in 40 minutes. Ten years ago I would have said, "Um, no, but, McDonalds is around the corner. However, at my wise, ripe old age of 28 (and counting) I simply listed the quickest meals on the menu, deflected smart ass comments from the miserable old gentleman in the party, and got them out the door in their desired timeframe. I was so pleasant that I even had the old guy smiling before he left. Freakin' amazing.

Let me tell you about me at 18 years of age.
Miserable middle aged guy who frequents the grocery store where I am employed decides he doesn't owe a late fee for a video rental (despite what the computer says). I tell him that he'll have to talk to the General Manager who is not working at the moment. He says okay and walks away. A couple minutes later he comes up and says he really wants to talk about this with a manager. So, I call the manager who is currently working. Before the manager arrives I remind the gentleman (I use this word as more of a joke than anything) that though this manager can speak with him, he doesn't have the power nor the authority to do anything other than listen to the complaint.

The Guy LOSES it on me. He asks why I bothered calling the guy, why didn't I say anything before I paged him, blah blah blah.

I pretty much tell the guy he's a lunatic and that I had told him all the same stuff just minutes prior.

He insults me in some manner and then calls me a little girl.

So I respond, "Ok, old man"

He proceeds to shake his finger at me and scream (red faced and spitting). "Listen you LITTLE BITCH you're lucky I don't slap you across the face!"

*Sidebar-I'm a little girl (his words) whom he is threatening with bodily harm. Nice.

At this point my manager arrives and tells the guy not to speak to me in this manner. I forget what happened next because I was too stunned to think and this was one of those rare occasions in my life when I was rendered utterly speachless.

Couldn't.
Speak.

Back to the present: I SO could have handled that better. But, I was eighteen years old and was still working under the assumption that the biggest asshole wins.

I was wrong.

I am amazed at the pleasure I get from being calm and rational while being verabally accosted. I am also amazed at the frequency with which my calm politeness creates a certain amount of reciprocity where there was formerly a distinct lack of civility.

Yet, while the moments where I am calm and rational in the face of blatant meanness are more recurring than they once were, the moments where I want to win the battle of hard-ass still exist. I still have this pigheaded portion of my character that feels as though I need to make it clear to the other guy that I am a human being, not a punching bag. But most of all, I want it clear that they are wrong and I am right.

I've decided it's genetic. My initial, gut reaction (which I can trace directly to my mother) will always be the same, "Hey buddy-did you know you're a JERK?!" However, my conditioning is making it somewhat easier to think, "Okay, maybe this guy's dog just died, or his mom is ill, or his kid is hooked on drugs, and the only way he is making it through today is to lose control with a stranger." Then I generally achieve a placid, composed response.

On the days when I try hard and succeed in achieving the conditioned response, I see my reflection and think, "You've come a long way, baby."

On the days when I role my eyes, emit a deep sigh, and retaliate; I look at my reflection and think, "You still have really far to go."