I had it all planned out.
Once inside the supermarket, if I were to encounter the lady who’d sworn at and almost hit me in the parking lot, I was going to block her path with my cart. I was going to pretend I didn’t see her reaching for the bananas and use my son as a human shield. When faced with her inevitable wrath, I was going to say ever so pleasantly:
“Oh, I’m sorry, hon! Am I blocking your path?”
It was going to be unspeakably satisfying, and carry low retaliation odds. Even if the angry motorist yelled at me or tried to take me down in the snack food aisle, I’d come out looking almost martyr-like.
Turns out I did see her.
In the dairy aisle.
She was picking out yogurts with her adult son.
Just a weary old pissed off lady in a misshapen t T-shirt.
I decided I didn’t need any yogurt and kept walking on.
Let’s call it emotional maturity instead of cowardice.
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