Last week, something happened to me—an experience that I am sure many of my readers can relate to. The scenarios may differ in each of our individual recollections, but I am sure you can remember a time when you felt injustice when someone else received preferential treatment.
We all deal with frustration and anger differently, and I would like to share two stories with you. One ended in a very positive manner, and the other person was sentenced to 10 weeks of mandatory anger management classes with yours truly.
Two very different scenarios; however, both outcomes could have been very similar. As you read the story, think about how you may have reacted.
Let us start with a positive story, something to make you smile.
Last week, my lovely and very patient wife gently hinted that although she adored my grey hair, it was getting wild, woolly, and out of control. To her credit, she was being kind; I have been swamped of late, and it looked like a pair of hedge trimmers were the only thing that would rectify my current hair dilemma.
Hint taken, I made an appointment at my local barber and arrived before my scheduled time. I checked in and heard a little ‘Ding’ as my name appeared on the small display panel above the reception desk. I was thrilled to see that I was next in line. I had another appointment scheduled, and today, everything seemed to be running on time—or so I thought.
As I took my seat, the man next to me heard the ‘Ding’ that accompanied my name arriving on the board and looked at the display quizzically.
“That’s strange.” He said to himself, loud enough so I could make out what he was saying.
I looked over and asked, “Is everything OK?”
“I think there’s been a mix-up, ” he replied. “I reserved two appointments for my son and I back to back.”
I glanced over to the hairdressing chair. The stranger’s son was perched on a booster seat, a black cape swimming around his tiny body. As I watched, the barber picked up a spray bottle and dampened the little boys’ blonde locks. The kid wrinkled his nose and scrunched his eyes shut as the mist hit his face. “I never like being sprayed with the water bottle either.” I thought to myself, smiling a little.
I picked up a magazine and began thumbing through it when the man beside me spoke into his phone. “Hey, we are going to be late. They didn’t book Chad and I together, so I think it will take another 45 minutes. Can you wait that long?”
The person on the other end must have agreed. The man apologized, hung up the phone and looked at me exasperated.
“I hate it when they mix up the times.”
“I know what you mean,” I replied. “I have an appointment after this; otherwise, I would give you my spot.”
“It’s OK.” The stranger replied, “Chad shouldn’t be too long.” His attention moved back to his phone, and he began texting.
Picking up my magazine, I sat back and settled in for a short wait.
Chad’s haircut went very quickly. Within 10 minutes, the little guy bounced out of the chair and ran to his father, marveling at how “cool” his hair looked. His Dad favored him with a nurturing smile.
Knowing I was up next, I placed my magazine to the side and made a move to stand up when the barber called out, “Tom, you’re up next!”
I looked up at the barber, but his attention was focused on Tom.
Looking apologetically at me, Tom stood and moved to the chair. “Is that OK?” Tom asked.
“Sure, go ahead.” Was my immediate reply, and then my brain chose to protest my decision. My amygdala was triggered. A few thoughts flew quickly through my mind. Should I point out the obvious error and ask to take my allotted space instead? Should I be Mr Nice Guy and let the kid’s father take my spot?
Ultimately, I took a deep breath and tried to centre myself. I prefer to assess my actions instead of allowing my primitive brain to take control. As annoying as it was, I did have time between appointments. As a Dad, I know how hard it can be to keep kids occupied without waiting longer than needed, so I channelled my inner Good Guy and took the high road. I certainly could wait a little longer if Chad could sit patiently while his hair was cut.
Despite telling myself I was being chivalrous and had performed my good deed for the day, as the time ticked by, I became increasingly annoyed. By the time I considered getting up and walking out, Tom was almost done.
As the barber pulled the cape away from his client, I stood up, ready to take my seat. I was not letting anyone ahead of me this time. A kind apology was offered for the mix-up, and my haircut proceeded as expected. Small talk was exchanged, and I thanked the barber as I stood up from my chair, amazed at the amount of hair on the floor. “You can make a wig out of that; there is so much!” I joked.
Moving towards the counter, I pulled out my wallet when the barber held up his hand and smiled. “No need for that, Mr Fiore.” He said cheerfully. “The guy ahead of you already paid for your haircut.”
I was genuinely taken aback, and as I write this blog post many days later, the glow I felt when I received Tom’s kindness remains.
I could have spoken up and demanded my time slot be honored, but honestly, where would that have gotten me? I assessed my options, thought about little Chad and chose to let his Dad slip in ahead of me, and was rewarded with the kindness of a stranger.
Now, for my second story, this one did not end well. Here, we meet Jake, who lets his amygdala control his actions. This is never a wise thing to do.
During my career, I have taught countless anger management classes, and some stories remain with me. Jake’s story is one of them.
Jake was a tall but unassuming man. After entering the room, he took a seat at the back of the class, head down, looking rather forlorn. When asked a question, he replied quietly, and as the class progressed, his demeanor intrigued me.
Honestly, I thought he was lost and had stumbled into the wrong group. That was until I asked him to share his story.
“So Jake, would you like to come up to the front and share with us why you are here?” I asked.
“Yeah, alright.” Came the quiet reply as he made his way to the front of the class.
“Well, it happened a few months ago, you know, Christmas time and all. I wanted to get my kid a last-minute gift. I wish I’d just stayed at home.”
Everyone in the class leaned forward slightly in their seats, straining to hear Jake’s murmured voice.
“So,” He continued. “I was driving around the mall parking lot for ages, and I kept getting suckered in by all the idiots that go back to their car to drop off packages. You wait thinking they will leave, but then they just walk away, so I was getting really ticked off.”
Jake’s voice was strengthening; my class relaxed back in their seats.
“Then this lady in a super old car puts on her blinker to pull into a park. The other guy backs out of the space, but the old broad is just sitting there, in the middle of the lane, holding up all of the cars.”
His voice is filled with angst as he relives the experience, and I watched curiously as a bead of sweat formed on his brow.
“So I beep at her and you know what happens then? The stupid woman tries to get that boat of a vehicle into the car park, but she only makes it halfway before she realizes she isn’t going to make it.”
“What were other people doing?” I asked.
“Nothing!” Jake yelled. “That was the problem. She spent the next few minutes going forward and back, doing the same bloody thing over and over. I’d had enough.” One hand had buried itself in his hair in frustration.
“So I got out of the car and let her have it! Turns out she was an old broad. She shouldn’t be driving if she can’t even park.”
“What did you say to her?” I asked curiously.
“I told her to get the eff off the road. She is a danger to society and should have her license taken from her,” Jake fumed. His emotions were now entirely caught up in his recollections.
“You know what she did then? She got so scared that she beeped the horn at me, turned on her windscreen wipers instead of her indicator, and almost hit the car in front of her as she left. It was pretty funny at the time, but I guess her family reported what happened, and they tracked me down. You know, CCTV and all.” His voice dropped a little as he shook his head. “Now I’m here, and I bet she is driving around and causing all kinds of accidents. It’s not fair.”
“So,” I asked, “what would have happened if you had been patient and waited?”
“She would have been there all flipping day!” Jake shot back.
“OK,” I tried another tack. “What if you had gotten out and asked if she needed help, or gently mentioned that you thought her car was too big for the park?”
“I dunno. It didn’t happen that way, did it, so what does it matter?”
“Well, it could have changed the outcome entirely for you and her,” I said. “You wouldn’t have scared a senior citizen and you would be free to do anything you like instead of spending the next 10 Wednesdays with me.”
Jake suddenly became very interested in his hands, “I guess so. ‘Spose, I overreacted.”
Jake certainly did but to his own detriment.
So there we have it—two stories whose outcomes could have ended in very different ways. The choices we make depict our outcomes, so if you find yourself in a situation where your amygdala wants to take control, remember to take a deep breath, settle your emotions, and think before you react. Instead of being sentenced to 10 weeks of anger management, you may just end up with a free haircut instead.
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