Nothing to do with chess
So, this is my first blog post on this site, and part of me is ashamed that is has nothing to do with chess. Nothing whatever. But the rest of me realizes that this little corner of the internet is mine to do whatever the hell I want with (within reason, let's not get crazy). So with that in mind, I need to vent about something that happened to me today. Do I care that this is just another note in the malicious chord of bitching that the blogosphere is? No. No I don't.
So today was my first day of classes at the Community College of Rhode Island (hereafter referred to as CCRI) and to get there I took a Rhode Island Public Transit Authority (or RIPTA) bus. This is nothing unusual as I am a college student and actor, which means that I am broke. After the school day is done, I go to the Providence campus. I attend classes at the Warwick campus. CCRI's gots lots of campuses. I went to the Providence campus to get a bus pass as students get 'em for half off there. Sweet. The woman who (kinda) sold me the bus pass had no teeth and was dumb, and I would like to point out that those two facts have absolutely no correlation with one another. I just want to paint a picture for you, my anonymous reader. Because she was dumb, my purchase, which should have taken less than a minute, took more than five. THIS IS FINE! Shit happens, and I was in no rush. It was a lovely day and I waited outside.
After hopping the trolley to Kennedy Plaza, I waited for the 60 bus, upon which I ride to and from our state's glorious, crime riddled capital. After about ten minutes, the bus shows up, but the bus will not be taking us anywhere. There was traffic, and the fellow who would otherwise be driving us will now be going home. Do I necessarily understand the logic of this? No, I do not. AM I a little aggrevated? Yes, I am. I want to go home too. DO I PISS AND MOAN ABOUT IT?
No. An emphatic no. I do not piss and moan about it. I do not piss and moan about it because whether I piss and moan or not, I'm still in Providence waiting for a bus. Complaining will not get me home any faster. Plus, I am surrounded by a literal busload of people who are also probably equally aggrevated and who also want to get home (or where ever it is that they're going), and my complaining will certainly not help them. So, I take a deep breath, let it out, and wait patiently for the inevitable bus that will take me home. I knew then that there would be one. I was not wrong.
Lo, a bus pulled in and, as per almost usual, the bus driver closed the door on the awaiting passengers while he checked about the bus. This happens frequently. I won't say all the time, because that would be a lie, but it happens often enough that I am not surprised or aggrevated by it.
WOULD THAT MY FELLOW PASSENGERS SHARED MY PHILOSOPHY OF NOT BITCHING!!! As I waited patiently for the inevitable bus that was, in fact, inevitable, a small crowd of folk banded together under the notion that they had been sourly mistreated by the Fates. True, the bus-driver-that-went-home was not as polite as he could have been in explaining the situation to us and yes, he had been rather persnickity on the whole. But understand my viewpoint before we continue: that driver had been kinda rude, certainly unpleasant, and lazy. I have met several such busdrivers in my years of bus riding. But these bus drivers are not automatons, they are people, and so are flawed. They spend all day driving up and down the same damn route dealing with people such as I am about to describe to you, and I can imagine that after such a day of dealing with these ever present, ever annoying annoyances, one might get persnickity. THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE! You do not have the right to be a bitch to other people because you had a bad day. That said, I can understand and overlook.
My fellow passengers who, if you remember, had banded together, did not think the way I think. They felt that they had been sourly and truly wronged by the bus-driver-who-went-home and proceeded to bond with one another on an emotional level by swapping stories about how, in the past, they had been similarly wronged by other RIPTA bus drivers. Some of these stories sounded familiar. I myself have been wronged by RIPTA bus drivers. But those wrongs were commited by those bus drivers, and, I would like to remind you, my reader, that bus drivers are people and not interchangable automatons. So my anger and frustration towards those bus drivers who've wronged me is placed where it should be, namely, towards those bus drivers who have wronged me.
Upon entering the bus, these passengers (there were about four) began to comment on hwo they were going to call up RIPTA headquarters and complain. It was clear that they wanted some response fromt the driver who, forever gaining my love and admiration, declined to feed them their bitter crop-milk. One passenger even went so far as to get a RIPTA supervisor (they walk about to address complaints and pull drunk people off the bus) onto our bus. A women, who I shall name Betsie, proceded to say to the supervisor, "The 2:50 was late." I can't quite encapsulate the tone in which she said this, but if I could, you would understand that this was not merely a reporting os the facts, but a full on accusation that this man should feel solely responsible for the half-hour this woman had lost. In short, she was kinda rude. I know that she was frustrated, but just as RIPTA bus drivers aren't excused from being bitchy when they've had a bad day, so too was this woman not excused from being bitchy because she felt wronged.
A tense conversation followed during which Bestie became infuriated and threatened, nay, promised to tell the attorney general who she knows because he plays tennis at Brown (she works at Brown) about what had just happened and just that supervisor wait until tomorrow when he doesn't have a job, just wait, nobody talks to her like that, who does he think he is, if he want to talk to somebody like that he can talk to his wife, he don't talk to me like that, whodoeshethinkheisblahblahblahblah! ( I think it significant to point out that Bestie did not care whether or not this supervisor's wife was stuck in an unhappy marriage where she was spoken to rudely. Just so long as Betsie get's the respect she deserves). Betsie then continued to mumble, and by mumble I mean loudly announce, to herself the rest of the ride home, commenting on every out-of-the-ordinary thing the bus driver did and calling him a "fucking moron" (this bus driver, remember, had nothing to do with Betsie or the supervisor OR the bus-driver-who-went-home. He was merely catching her wrath in all its hot fury).
My point is this. I know that you're aggrevated and I'm sorry the world is full of small injustices. But your complaining doesn't help anyone, certainly not you, and you shouldn't be suprised if, in taking your frustation out on someon else, they in turn take their frustration out on you. You are not the center of the world. Get over it. And please, please, for the love of god, stop fucking COMPLAINING!!!