There's a particular route you have to take to get from areas north of our house to our house, involving a right turn on Geary, then a U-turn in front of New Perspectives, then up Geary to our hood. I was doing this ritual of socio-spacial negotation (i.e., you get a ticket if you turn left on Geary, and aren't a bus), when a grey-silver fancy-pants car (a Mercedes or Lexus?) pulled out from 15th, across the West bound lanes of Geary, to stop right in front of me. Me, waiting to turn in the turn lane: Lady Fancy-Pants, the turn lane is where people turn, HELLO!So I sit there with the car that costs more than my yearly income parked in front of me, waiting for the cars to pass on the East-bound lane so it can continue on its fancy way. I feel the righteous indignation sort of peaking around the door frame of my psyche, flashing its lashes at me, offering to come in, when the Fancy Lady--squat, grey haired, pugnatious looking--looks me in the eye...and smiles and shrugs. Not in apology, but in a gesture that said something like, "Well, isn't that the way of the world, and isn't this just like me?"
I melted, included in something bigger than the both of us. If you're going to be a narcissist, barging up to the front of the lines of the world, then a bit of self-recognition goes a long, long way towards mitigating the damage. Hear, hear, Fancy Pants Narcissistic Lady!
