Mother and daughter in the doctors waiting room are having an animated debate concerning the outcome of a fight between a dog and a snake.
Just saw a utility truck with a decal on the back window that said ‘The Uterus’.
Saw a woman at the playground, alone, dressed in black, pushing an empty swing.
Knew it was a great second hand bookshop when I saw the boxes of books on the stairs and smelt the body odour and passive aggression
It wouldn’t be a stretch to describe me, in my weaker moments, as having a passive aggressive temperament. It’s a maligned trait; people would much rather you be aggressive aggressive. That way you get everything out in the open. People may get maimed or killed, but at least everyone knows where they stand. (Or not, if there’s been maiming and killing.)
Aggressive aggression led to two world wars during the twentieth century, and countless other territorial and religious conflicts throughout the ages. One wonders how the world might be different if Hitler had merely stood at the border of the Sudatenland, glowering across Western Europe and wearing a ‘Fine, keep your lebensraum’ T-shirt.
However, there are times when I can see the unhealthy and unattractive side of passive aggression. One manifestation of it in particular makes me pity and despise the passive aggressor. You may have encountered it yourself. It’s when someone in your workplace or sharehouse puts up one of those trite, sarcastic and judgmental notices concerning the kitchen fairy (more specifically, the non-employment thereof on the premises).
I’ve seen numerous examples of the kitchen fairy notice, most recently a version in the form of a job advertisement. I can only presume that a simple ‘Please clean your dishes’ notice would fail to a) achieve the desired outcome, b) fill the author with the requisite degree of self-righteousness or c) deliver quite the same Martin-Luther-nailing-his-95-Theses-to-the-Wittenburg-church-door feeling.
I was walking down my street this morning when I heard a tune both mournful and carnivalesque.
Around the corner walked a crusty, withered old rake playing some sort of sea shanty on a mouth organ. He wore a dark navy overcoat and tugged upon his grubby sailor’s cap as we bade each other good morning.
I thought how splendid it was that he was providing his own entertainment. I thought, “Wow, that’s so much better than carrying an iPod around”.
Then I thought, “Wait a minute, you can’t listen to a podcast commentary of last night’s episode of Doctor Who on a mouth organ.”