Anger for no good reason

Photo on 2010-03-20 at 22.56

Tonight I served as the bell ringer for a “professional” wrestling event. I’ll blog about the specifics later—but for now, let’s talk anger.

I am not an angry person. Perhaps my blog screams otherwise, but in day-to-day, person-to-person life, I’m a pretty peaceful guy. I rarely yell; hardly bicker. Yet once every couple of years, for some unknown reason, I’ll have a moment of inexplicable rage. My most famous came about a decade ago, when I sort of challenged a senior citizen to a fight in a Manhattan CVS (long story). The wife has never let me forget it, and with good reason: It was stupidity personified.

Tonight, I had a similarly inane moment.

Was leaving the high school gymnasium, and I needed to use a bathroom. The school was holding a separate event at the auditorium, so I strolled in and walked toward the bathroom. A security guard in a blue T-shirt stopped me. “You can’t use the bathroom,” he said.

“I just worked the wrestling event,” I explained, “so could I use it real quick? Please?”

Security Guard A huddled with Security Guard B, and they said I could use the bathroom, but I’d have to leave my backpack outside. “I’ve got my camera in there!” I said. “Are you kidding me?”

“Sir,” he said, “there is a high school event going on, and I …”

I didn’t want to hear it. “I live in this town!” I said—loudly. “I just want to use the bathroom!”

The main guard wasn’t having it. “Go use the bathroom somewhere else,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the other.

I hated those security guards. I mean, I really, really, really hated them. Why? I have no idea. They were doing their jobs, and they were 100% right—there were high school kids all over the place, and I was some unknown adult with a black backpack. They shouldn’t have let me in. At all. Ever. But I acted the dick. For no good reason.


PS: That said, the “Goodbye” comment really bit me the wrong way. Having covered pro sports for a long time, I’ve come face to face with, literally, hundreds of security guards who seem to think sanctioned T-shirt+walkie talkie+puffed-out chest=license to be an ass. It’s a grating phenomenon.