When You're So Angry It's Silly
Sometimes emotions get in the way of how cool you're trying to look
HOW ARE YOU FEELING?
Tense?
Intense?
Free to laugh?
I’M GRATEFUL FOR
Journaling
Cruise control
Getting to show someone my favorite TV show for the first time
Emotions can make us do ridiculous things.
One time I accidentally cut in front of some Air Force guys in line at McDonald’s. It was one of those situations where you can’t tell if there’s one line for multiple registers or a line for each. I was also on the phone with my mom, so I wasn’t paying close enough attention to see that when I stepped forward, I was cutting them off. One of them was very upset by that. I mean, he was probably just upset in general, about life and stuff, and I was the last straw. He came up behind me.
“Make sure you tell your mom she raised a rude son.”
What?! I just turned, confused at what was happening and why.
“Ok?”
Turned back and finished ordering. Got my receipt and walked away to finish my phone call.
“Hey mom, I’m supposed to tell you you raised a terrible son.”
“…Ok?”
That happened in high school and it’s still stuck with me. What he said didn’t really hurt. I’ve got other memories of hurtful words being way more effective than that. But I still think about it all the time. I think about if he thinks about that moment. Like, did that sound as good out loud as it did in his head? Was he searching for the most devastating diss to really get me to see how much I had wronged him? Did it feel good? Did he tell anyone about it later? Did he punch up his quote in the retelling? It really does sound like a first draft for a diss.
I know that feeling. You’re like this’ll show them! This’ll teach them a lesson! But emotions are running too high and what comes out isn’t as cool or as intense as you imagined. You lost your cool and it ruined the effectiveness of your message. You look silly.
One time I was cut off by a truck while driving through my hometown. I was consumed with strong feelings about the driver and his driving. I needed to get him back. I needed to teach him a lesson. When we got to the stop light I realized it was a work truck with the company’s number on the side. I was tempted to call and complain about their reckless driver. That would show them. But I wouldn’t do that. But I wanted him to think I would. So I pulled out my phone, mimed typing the number, and faked an elaborate phone call as we waited for the light to turn green. I gave a big performance, loudly complaining about this terrible driver into a my lifeless phone.
“He can’t hear you.”
And that’s when I remembered I wasn’t alone in my car. My friend was riding shotgun, a witness to my little meltdown. We had been having a normal conversation until the truck showed up. With the rush of feelings, I completely forgot he was there until he spoke up. And I’m glad he did. I needed help zooming out to see what I was actually doing. Oh I look crazy.
Driving down the mountains of Wyoming on my way home after a weekend doing comedy. Beautiful view. Fresh snow. No traffic. Well, almost no traffic.
When I noticed the 18-wheeler stopped on the shoulder, I quickly moved over to the other lane. Suddenly I realized my whole rear view was overtaken by an old pick up truck. Uh oh. How well did I check my blind spots before moving over? I probably cut him off. Yikes. My bad.
He stayed on my bumper. He didn’t look happy. Talked with his hands, minus any universal symbols. Just angry flailing.
I moved back over to my lane to get out of his way, but he wasn’t ready to be done letting me know how much I had wronged him. He got up next to me. He was MAD and it felt like his madness was still growing.
He yelled and flailed some more. I sped up. So did he. I slowed down. So did he. UH OH.
It wasn’t ending. He wasn’t ready to let go.
I had never seen an encounter with road rage that lasted this long. Or at least not in real life. I’ve seen my share of videos on social media of drivers getting chased for miles and miles after the initial confrontation. You always hear the panic in their voice while they’re on the phone with 911. Why hasn’t this ended yet? What are they hoping to get out of this? I didn’t think it would happen to me.
Eventually, his truck fell back, letting me take the lead. Thank God, I thought. Maybe he feels like he’s taught me enough of a lesson to let me—
Nope.
He sped back up next to me.
More gesturing.
But this time was different. Nothing big or wild or energetic. A small gesture. A simple one. A gesture that’s more intimidating the calmer you are.
I couldn’t hear him but his body language spoke loud and clear: I’m so mad, I want to shoot you.
He held a gun in his one free hand and pointed it at me. He smiled as he mimed the little kickback that would come if he really pulled the trigger. There was no humor in his face. It was clear that he wanted to be as menacing as possible.
Except for one problem.
It wasn’t a real gun.
I just needed you to think it was a real gun so you could accurately picture the rest of the scene. If I just said he drove back up next to me holding a banana like a gun and threatened to shoot me with it, you wouldn’t picture him trying to be scary with the banana gun. But I promise you he was. That’s why I looked so dumbfounded when he drove back up next to me.
Pew pew pew, mimed the banana gun.
I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW SERIOUS HE WAS WITH THE BANANA GUN.
In his blind rage, he must have searched for some prop to freak me out with, but all he had was a banana.
I wasn’t worried, though. The Bible says no weapon peeled against me shall prosper.
Oh, did I also mention it was 8 am?! In the morning?! He was threatening me with breakfast. It’s too early for that level of aggression. If you’re that mad that early, turn that banana gun into a banana phone and call a banana therapist or something.
I was ready for our time together to be over so I slowed down enough to just get behind him.
He slammed on his brakes, slowing way down.
More wild gestures.
Sped back up.
When it was time for his exit, he clicked his turn signal, rolled down his window, and started pointing for me to exit with him. YEAH RIGHT, DUDE. He got off and I didn’t follow.
When I looked over at the frontage road, half of his body was leaning out of his truck so could make an inappropriate gesture with both hands to let me know I was a….coward.
I know all those feelings weren’t really about me. Sure, it was 8 am, but there’s a chance it wasn’t his morning. Maybe he worked a night shift and was on his way home after a particularly awful night. Maybe that wasn’t his breakfast, but his before-bed-banana.
It’s an odd sensation when you can clock in the moment that the emotions someone is expressing at you aren’t actually about you. It’s like going to a chicken place at the end of the night and noticing that even though you ordered a 5 piece, they threw in 9, because they’re closing soon and they need to get rid of them. You get more because they had more lying around.
I’d choose chicken over aggression any day.
I wonder if Banana Gun Barry thinks about that morning—or if he even remembers it. Maybe that’s the kind of thing he does all the time and it doesn’t stand out. But maybe it’s not. What if that was his rock bottom? What if when he got home that morning he told his wife he was finally ready to try counseling for his anger.
“What brings you in today?”
“Last week my rage was so out of control I thought shooting a bad driver with a banana would make me happy.”
I hope he can laugh about it. For me, that’s often step one towards dealing with something. Laughter helps me loosen my grip on the event, let go, and see it from more of a distance. When you’re too close, the banana gun might actually look like a good idea. Take a step back and see how silly it really is.
Live Comedy! October 19! Mckinney, TX!
I’m performing my comedy storytelling show in McKinney this month and EVERYONE AROUND DFW SHOULD COME!
Get tickets NOW!
Love you like a neighbor,
Taylor Johnson
This reminds me of when my little brother was so mad at me that he wrote that he hated me on the family dry-erase board so everyone would see how much he hated me. But he didn't know that "hate" is spelled with an "e" at the end. Now every time we have a family get together, everyone says they "hat" him.