Confessions of a Vinegar-laden Lady

My roomie rushed down the stairs upon hearing my banshee cries of frustration.

"What's the matter?" she asked, alarmed at my outburst. "We thought the dog next door was going crazy."

Still sobbing angrily, I held up my ticket. My $100 moving violation for talking on my cell while driving in the district.

"That jerk!" I growled. "This jerky, cocky a-hole of a cop just gave me a ticket. And he was SO rude!"

I hadn't handled it too well when he rolled up next to my window while I was attempting to park. First of all, he was too lazy to step off his segway and walk 10 feet over to my car. Secondly, his smug demeanor and the arrogant glances he shot his cop-buddies on the corner stunk reminiscently of a senior high boy about to pick on the freshman at the bus stop. Everything about him said: "Watch this! I'm about to get her."

Even the tone of his voice as he quipped rhetorically, "Do you know there's a $100 fine for driving and talking on your cell phone in the District of Columbia?"

Ok, so in my defense, let me say that at first I tried to go the sweet, compliant innocent route, even though his manner was already compelling me to whip out my 'angry eyes'. "No sir, I didn't know that," I replied in my most innocent tone, still with phone in hand, my mother waiting patiently on the line.

He motioned toward my reciprocity sticker and all but barked, "Well darlin', that right there means you assume all rights and consequences of operating a vehicle in the district. Get out your license and registration."

GRRR. He had used the dreaded "D" word.

I scrambled frustratedly to find the necessary documents. Surprisingly, I do have them all neatly in one place, but heck if I could find them now. As I searched my messy car and he sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes, resentment rose in my throat. My thoughts toward this guy were not G-rated, nor were the words I wanted to say to him.

And then, the moment of truth; the moment I should have let my words be few.

As I whipped out my paperwork and fought back angry tears I let it fly: "Gee, nice to see you guys out," I quipped. "You know, I really hope y'all hang around more, say at 2 am when I'm about to be carjacked or mugged." (And YES, I've had my second scare this year just last week!)

Well, that did it. He looked across the hood of my car at his buddies watching from the sidewalk, "Boys, she just signed her own ticket."

"Excuse me?" I asked indignantly. He knew he'd crossed a professional line, even if I had been the one to draw it in the sand.

"Nothing," he retorted gruffly.

A few minutes later he shoved a ticket through my window and I huffed and stomped my way through my front door. Which is where my dear roomie found me, ugly crying and howling aloud in frustration.

Isn't it funny how the stupidest things can sometimes send you over edge? True, this jerk had known just how to push all my buttons, and apparently I had reciprocated rather well. True, it was frustrating to "lose" the altercation, and take the ticket powerlessly. And true, I was already broke and had no extra money to spend on frivolous tickets. But somehow in the crying my fit became about every other ounce of pent-up frustration: feeling left out of my sister's impending wedding, my mother's frustrations and worries about my sister's wedding (at least bad cop had interrupted that conversation- should I thank him?), job frustrations, money frustrations, the extra five pounds I'd gained. The list goes on and on. They had all culminated into the perfect storm of ugly crying.

As I began to recover over a few glasses of wine with the roomies, one girls' comment from the previous evening came back with a vengeance and I had to laugh at my own stupidity. Upon failing to draw a guy friend out for a night of dancing, she had remarked, "Our strategy was all wrong. We should have been less antagonizing and stroked his ego more. You draw more flies with honey than vinegar, you know."

In light of my ticket, I mulled this over a bit more. Was I much too good at baiting with vinegar to be bothered with honey? Sometimes, it seemed that was the only way to survive, and I could think of fellow acerbic-leaning individuals who mutually respect a smart-mouth girl who can hold her own. And it didn't hurt when fending off the creepers I tend to attract when out.

But a much more substantial record seemed to speak in affirmation, that perhaps I am too acidic for my own good. In addition to the cop, and failure draw my friend from his couch, I could think of a string of other incidences where I'd cut off my nose, so to speak. There are the little altercations with an old coworker I tended to miscommunicate with from time to time, the backlash of a girlfriend's wrath. Even the creepers should be handled with care --- it is best to avoid making blatant enemies of the creepers in this town, though they might deserve to be taken down a few notches. You never know who someone works for, or who you might need to work with in the future.

Why it is so much easier to default to vinegar rather than honey, I will never know. All I know is, for all my Southern charms (and yes, I have a few and I know how to use them!), too often I play my cards foolishly and end up paying the price. This time, it just happens to be a $100 ticket. But perhaps, if I learn my lesson and let my biting words be few, it will save me from an even more costly mistake the next time around.