First in line

Yesterday I waited in line at the bus station for an hour. As departure time neared, the line grew. Minutes before the awaited moment when the bus driver enters through the sliding doors to announce that bus loading shall begin, a young man sets his bag down and stands at the front of line. Without hestitation I ask, "Are you just going to get in the front of the line?" He looked at me. I continued, "It wouldn't be fair to everyone else in line." He replied, "Oh, I didn't know there was a line." Then he moved to the back of the line.

I immediately felt awful. I wasn't wrong for pointing out to him that the line existed and that his budging was rude. In fact, I soothed my knee-jerk guilt by telling myself that I'd stood up for my fellow passengers. But "Are you just going to get in the front of the line?" Really? I'm a bitch.

My filter is thin at best. That's why I avoid confrontation: self-preservation (that and passive-aggressiveness, though almost 100% ineffective, is so much funnier). I'll say things I'll feel bad about saying. If I were trying to convince you that I'm a good person I'd say it's because I don't want to hurt the other person's feelings, but it's really just because I don't want to feel bad. Also, I'm horrible at improv, so should the person I'm confronting fight back my reply would be something along the lines of "Oh yeah? Well, well, you're ugly." Then my ego would be bruised, and that would be even worse than feeling bad. There's not much I wouldn't do to save my pride (little, though, my pride represents).

What I should have said instead was, "Excuse me. The end of the line is back there." I've said this before in similar situations and it has worked just as well. I sounded like a spoiled teenager yesterday.

The chance that this man missed noticing the substantial line, marked by ropes, is slim. The chance he was taking was that no one would call him out on his rudeness, a gamble he's likely won before. I don't admire his decision but I understand it, even if it is over something as stupid as getting on a Greyhound first.

What have we learned from this tale? Practice saying "Excuse me" first.

An update (about me, of course)

Since February I've been training to run the Lake Placid Marathon in June. A month ago (St. Patrick's Day, to be exact) I returned home from a ten-mile run in Central Park (with a short stop to watch part of the parade) with a sore Achilles tendon and a swollen ankle. I had pulled my Achilles tendon. As it turns out, this isn't an injury you can just walk off. Attempts to run a few days later, then a few days after that, were unsuccessful. I finally decided to listen to my husband (and my brother who is a personal trainer who said, "You let that sucker get back to 100%") and not run.

Needless to say, this was frustrating. I had been kicking ass at my training, running in rainstorms and snowstorms and freezing temperatures and up hills, and I was feeling really good about my preparation for the marathon. I was depressed that I couldn't run (and just as spring was beginning) and angry that I was going to fall behind in training. I finally got back to running this week. A three-mile run on Monday sucked. My tendon, thankfully, was fine, but instead of kicking ass my ass was kicked. Same thing for Wednesday and a four-mile run on Thursday. Completely pooped. Thursday afternoon I was questioning whether I should stop pretending I'd be ready in time for the marathon. But today was better. I ran five miles and it felt good. I did my best to supress a smile after the first mile when I realized it was going to be a good run, but I'm pretty sure I smiled anyway, by myself, running in a populated park in New York City. Whatever.

I have some catching up to do, and it's not going to be easy, but after today I'm convinced I can do it (which is good, because the race entry is nonrefundable).