In Which I Am An Asshole

Yes, you read that right.

I am an asshole.

Not very often, and not in the way that you'd expect.

Thanks to the fact that I was born a middle child, and thus by nature a peace keeper, I spend a good majority of my time wearing the proverbial Welcome mat. I subconsciously let everyone from close family to complete strangers walk all over me. I do have a breaking point, and when I've hit the limit of how much shit I can take from other people, it feels good to shove that push-over persona out of the way and just be a dick for a little while.

If you knew me in real life, this hidden part of my personality would be quite jarring. I can go from being mild-mannered and reasonably polite to a passive-aggressive little fucker in about 3.7 seconds.

Oddly enough, my mean streak tends to show itself most often in situations surrounding driving.

I'm the guy who drives at exactly the speed limit and not a single MPH more, while hugging the center line to prevent you from passing him. I'm the guy who intentionally leaves his shopping cart in the only available parking space within 500 yards of the entrance to Wal*Mart when he sees you pulling up to it.

I'm the guy who doesn't pull forward enough at the busy gas station, hogging two pumps at the same time. I'm the guy who turns his high beams on a few seconds before he passes you if you forget to shut your high beams off as you approach.

I'm the guy who will slow down for a yellow light with you behind me, but gun through the intersection at the last second, forcing you to stop for the red light. I'm the guy who sees you waiting for me to drive through the intersection to turn, and slows down so you have to wait longer.

Do you hate me yet?

When I told The Boss last night that I was writing this post, she shook her head incredulously.

"You are such an asshole," she said.

"Oh, come on. You can't honestly tell me that you've never done something like that to intentionally piss someone off."

"Sure, I can. I've been an asshole to many people before, but they always have done something to deserve it. I don't do it just because I can."

She looked at me disapprovingly. "That's just mean."

Maybe she's right, but I'm not about to admit it.

"Well, at least I'm not an asshole towards you," I said. "Intentionally."

"Ha! Right. Intentionally," she fires back.

"Hey, the only time you say I'm being an asshole is if you don't want to hear something I'm saying, or if I'm making fun of you and you can't see it as a joke."

"Like when you make fun of me when I mess up on a word while talking."

"You do that to me all the time!" I object.

"It's different," she says with finality.

I know this argument well. I am fluent in the Double Standard clause of relationships, and I know better than to push this one any further. I pause for a few seconds before getting the last word.

"Whatever. I don't have to justify why I do it, and it's not like I do it all the time. Sometimes it feels good to be passive-aggressive. It is one of the best forms of therapy I know of, short of self-medicating with drugs and alcohol."

Anyone who is a push-over or a people-pleaser like me will know what I mean.

Now is the time to dish. Are you ever an asshole?