Ever put your key in the lock but it won’t open, only to find yourself angrier at the door than you probably should be?
How about when you you try to put a box of cereal back in the cupboard but it suddenly won’t fit back in its spot no matter how perfectly it fit there in the first place or how many times you try to cram it back in, then feel a surge of inappropriate rage in your heart towards the, now crumpled, box in your hands?
Yeah, me too.
On more occasions than I can count, I’ll be happily clicking on a regularly used app when suddenly my phone starts running really slooooow. I’ll tap the screen a few times, thinking maybe that will make it respond. It doesn’t. I get irritated.
Then I wait. And wait. Then the phone goes dark because it was idle too long and went into powersave mode. I can feel the anger growing inside.
Next, I have to hit the “on” button to get the screen to turn back on, but because it’s running slow it doesn’t respond, so I hit it again. Naturally, what happens the millisecond just before I hit that button? The screen flashes back on.
But since I hit “on” when it technically was “on” the phone thought I meant “off” so the screen goes dark again. Now I’m seriously getting pissed.
My phone and I play this cat and mouse game a good three times over before I say to it, “I bet you think this is funny, don’t you?”
My phone mocks me by finally bringing the screen back on when I push the “on” button a final time. Then, as I go back to the app I was trying to open, up pops a notification that reads “This application is not responding. What would you like to do? [Force Close] [Cancel]”
As I click [Force Close], I think to the phone, “You and I both knew you were going to do that all along. Jerk.”
Or here’s another example: As I get ready for work, I take a necklace I haven’t worn in a while out of my jewelry box to wear for the day. Somewhere between unhooking the clasp and putting it around my neck, the necklace swings itself around and becomes knotted.
I whisper to the chain, “You knew I was running late already and now you’re trying to make me even later.”
The necklace scoffs at me as I carefully lay it on the bathroom sink and gently tug and the individual links to pull the chain free from itself. But it doesn’t matter how careful and attentive I am; the necklace is probably upset because I haven’t worn it in such a long time that it’s retaliating by refusing to untangle so that I won’t be able to wear it today anyway.
It’s only spiting itself, but it doesn’t care. It’s making me mad on purpose. And its tactics are working.
You may think that these silly antics are something I made up so that I could write an amusing blog post. But in all sincerity, I really do think these thoughts inside my head.
I mean, in the back of my mind I know that inanimate objects don’t have feelings or intentions or desires, but in those moments of frustration…
Just yesterday, while I was bringing in my recycling container, I had another experience:
Philadelphia gives out recycling containers for free but I never went to one of the local repositories to pick up my blue “Philadelphia Recycles” bin. I had always just put my cans & bottles in a paper bag on the curb. One day a blue bin mysteriously found it’s way in front of my stoop. Since it had no address labeled in black Sharpee on it, it seemed to me the poor thing had been abandoned and was now mine for the taking. The bin had an existing, and large, crack on the side but I didn’t mind. It was now my recycling container and I loved it regardless of its imperfections.
Yesterday, after the recycling man did his duty, I picked up my empty container and attempted to slide it back in its snug resting spot between the front of the house and a large planter pot, but it wouldn’t go in. Somewhere, the crack had gotten caught on a metal rail on one of the basement windows.
I pulled the bin back out and tried to glide it in again. Still stuck. I tried to locate the exact place the crack was getting caught so that I could remedy the problem, but I couldn’t find any plastic-on-metal friction.
The only logical conclusion I could come to was that the metal rail wasn’t keen on having the recycling bin in front of it, so it was intentionally blocking my efforts in a clandestine manner.
What did I do? Well, first I tried to cram that baby in there as hard as I could. Noting that this action was making the existing crack worse, I thought to myself, “And this is exactly what that damn metal rail wanted to happen.”
After taking a few moments to resume my composure, I calmly moved the planter, placed the recycling bin where it rightfully belonged, and slid everything back into place.
Then I promptly kicked the metal rail. It deserved it.
If you’ve ever felt this way yourself, you’re not alone.
Heck, you should even see if your friends have ever felt this way too. Wanna know a good way to find out? Comment, subscribe, share!