ANNOYING to some, perhaps, but I rather like the insurance advert that exhorts the hysterical woman to “calm down”. That’s possibly because I can identify with the lady in question – impetuous, impatient and prone to let fly, when pushed to the limit – and the boundaries of that limit can be extremely flexible.
I was reading recently, with a silent acknowledgment, that we are all now just as prone to let rip in the workplace as in the privacy of our home.
It’s not a good look, as anyone who has “lost it” even temporarily will testify, because no matter how infrequent the outburst, work colleagues will see another side of you that is best left in the box.
With the current trend moving towards quiet areas at work, and a fear of disturbing or interrupting your neighbour while they are in the middle of something important, the last thing you want is for your voice and vexation to echo round the chrome and glass interiors.
I’m assuming that outbursts of this nature are confined to office-type environments, while appreciating fully that this is not the case, but please allow me some licence as I have no experience of any other kind of working environment where people work in close proximity.
That said, there is ample potential for outbursts of frustration in public places – they do not necessarily have to be your workplace, indeed that’s probably where the majority of us experience that “just jammed our fingers in the door” feeling.
You can tell I’ve been letting off steam recently, can’t you? Truth is, I haven’t and I didn’t – mainly because, first, I was too tired and consequently lacking the proper focus to let rip, and, second, because I figured what would be the point?
There are times, and yes I applaud them, when getting it off your chest makes you feel a whole lot better at having been made a monkey out of, when explaining exactly how you feel through welded teeth is the best way to express your reciprocal gratitude. And then there are times when you just know that raising your blood pressure would be a gesture too far – a kindness they don’t deserve.
I could cite dozens of examples where my gut reaction was to vent my spleen, but why should I harden my arteries for some incompetent’s benefit? Why should I ruin my day, just because someone else couldn’t be bothered to do what they promised to do in the first place.
I am at my most vulnerable and most prickly first thing in the morning; I don’t wake up in a bad mood, and I don’t turn into Boadicea at dawn, but I’m certainly not Madame Bountiful, either. I have endured minor altercations with hotel receptionists and various other attendant staff who have failed to deliver on their promise at first light.
Recently, though, I was proud, if shocked, at my restraint when, on arriving in Edinburgh on the London sleeper, it became painfully apparent that the porter had omitted to give me my early-morning call as well as my bacon buttie. I was too tired to tell him what I thought of his first-class service, but I found it inexcusable that a simple request, which had been his own idea several hours earlier, had been quietly forgotten or overlooked. Either way, I got a scalding-hot cup of tea, undrinkable, and a lethally-hot bacon roll, equally unfriendly.
Now, just because I hadn’t paid for the privilege, that didn’t diminish my annoyance at having been overlooked; I was too preoccupied with getting my belongings together to bother giving the man in question a piece of my mind. Besides, I needed all the pieces I possessed, especially at that early hour.
But how can you journey from Mr Nice – “anything I can do for you”, to Mr Ooops, I forgot all about you? It’s not exactly a chapter out of how to charm and influence people, is it?
There was me thinking we were getting along real well, and all the time he was planning to let me oversleep and risk terrifying the occupants of the adjoining carriage as I stumbled my bare-faced way past them on the way to the exit.
Little did I realise that this was just the aperitif; I would discover later that I had no house key, and that my husband was sleeping his Saturday morning away upstairs, and no amount of noisy persuasion would entice him to open the door.
Thank goodness for Pebbles, who worked out just how angry I could get if I wasn’t allowed in after 10 full minutes of continuous door-knocking and bell-ringing. She might not be a guard dog, but boy do these biscuit treats pay off when you’re locked out.
So there we were, twice on the threshold of fury and still not tempted to let fly. In fact, despite the road traps, I remained incredibly if uncharacteristically calm for the remainder of the day, but that doesn’t bode well. This can only mean fireworks in the near future.
While we’re told that one cannot store up sleep, or require it in proportionate amounts when we’ve suffered a dearth of it, I earnestly believe that the opposite is true of goodwill. I am utterly convinced that, finally, like an uncorked bottle, you will fizz and erupt and let all your good work fall away.
I would love to be proud of my restraint when in the event of a particularly trying episode I manage to remain calm, but I know that the truth is I will get doubly cross, apoplectic, even, at some point, all of which balances out my frustrations.
Of course it’s better if this is performed in front of an audience I know well, an audience who recognise that this is not my best work, and who will come back for another, more-considered, recital once the dust has settled.
Naturally, they are the ones who least deserve this kind of routine, but unlike my work colleagues they at least have a chance of getting treated to my extra-special rice pudding, by way of amends – although only if they promise not to throw any tantrums.