I’ve been angry before. Many times. But the fuming type of burn it all down rage I’m experiencing right now is possibly within the top ten angriest moments of my life. And it’s all because a facial expression and an eye roll.
I may have mentioned before in a previous post that my middle son is gender fluid. He identifies as a boy, he does many traditional “boy” things, but he’s always liked “girl” styles as far as clothes, hair, etc., and he does carry himself in what would be considered a traditionally feminine way. The important part though is that he is a happy, sweet, and so far, a well-adjusted nine-year old child. He’s popular, everyone in his school loves him, and even though we live in a small southern town in the bible belt he has gotten almost nothing but positive support as far as his differences to the norm goes.
He also has some nasty allergy problems. That’s why he had an appointment at the allergists this morning. The appointment part went fine. Checkout on the other hand did not go fine. I mean as far as my son was concerned it went fine. For me though…
We needed a Doctors note for his tardiness to school and this is usually taken care of by one of the two receptionist that sit up in the front of the clinic. This time was no different. The woman I was dealing with asked me if “she”, speaking about my son, was going back to school today. The other receptionist offhandedly corrected her by saying “he”. The first woman looked at me quizzically, I said don’t worry about it, it happens all the time, and a look of abject horror and disgust crossed this woman’s bloated face – and just so you get the proper visual, this is the bloated face that is sitting directly under her bottled blond “let me talk to your manager” haircut and drawn on eyebrows. She glances over at my son, who is lucky distracted by the lobby’s Christmas tree, looks at me, looks back at my son, rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and mutters “oh sorry” in exactly the tone you’re most likely imagining right now.
At that point I came within a gnats ass of asking her if she had an opinion that she would like to share with me but not wanting to make a scene for the sake of my son I just glared at her until we finished our business.
So now he’s in school and I’m home pounding this out on my keyboard while listening to the angriest thrash metal I can find knowing that there is nothing I can do about the rage that this judgmental conformist cunt has caused me. She technically had done nothing but let her private thoughts briefly show in her body language and I am not the thought police.
But what if my son would have seen that look? How would that have affected him? He’s just being who he is and not hurting a soul.
Wait, I take that back! My nine year-old’s very existence is obviously causing great pain to small-minded, judgmental, ignorant people all across the world, including, but not limited to, that miserable piece of shit working behind the desk at his allergists.
I could write a strongly written letter to the practice, or even go back and confront her, but I’ve seen enough humans like her to know it wouldn’t do any good. She had the air of one of those people who could be on their third unhappy marriage and whose grown children had stopped talking to them and the thought that it might have something to do with her would never cross her tiny little narrow mind.
My only hope is that she’s the way she is because she’s terribly unhappy in life. And I do feel a touch guilty about saying this, but the thought that she’s miserable does bring me a little joy in this situation.