Nic Narrates

Heaven Points

Friday, March 30th, 2007

What the fuck is wrong with that baby anyway?

My head snapped around so fast, I’m surprised I didn’t get pummeled by the dangling elbow of the man hanging on the railing above our heads. I was an unthinking ball of hypocritical disgust…in transit…on an oddly warm March afternoon.

The bus was crowded– it was a Saturday after all–and full of shoppers on their way into the loop. The baby sat screaming in its stroller down the aisle. Screaming and, by the look of her mother, was about ready to have company in her wails.

I’m not sure what it is exactly, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt this particular pang, this deep stomach ache and internal clavicle shudder when I hear a baby let fly one of those “I hate the world, put me back in there!!” cries. I get all panicky (in a subdued I’m-a-grown-woman-and-it’s-totally-cool kind of way) and my first instinct is “MAKE IT STOP. MAKE IT STOP. MAKE IT STOP.” In my head, an alarm is going off and my eyes widen and begin to sweep from side to side looking for relief.

When I heard the complaint over the noise of the bus and the chatting passengers and the wind wiping through the bus windows and of course the crying baby; my assessment of the nearest escape route was abruptly brought back to calm, centered, angst. I glanced around me as person after person made eye contact in shared disgust for our fellow passenger.

Trash, I thought as I pursed my mouth and bit the inside of my left cheek. What the fuck is wrong with HER that she is so pissed off at a BABY for crying on a BUS while she is talking on her stupid fucking cellphone?

Just to spite her cranky ass, even I didn’t want that baby to stop crying now. I mean, it isn’t pleasant to hear a baby cry while traveling somewhere, but it also isn’t pleasant to have to hear all about what Jordan said to her boss at work yesterday or why she hates her lying ass ex-husband.

But even though she probably was trash, I felt bad for thinking it. I felt uncharitable. I feel that way a lot lately.

Most of the time, I’m able to hide my uncharitableness from the masses and go on thinking catty, inhumane, or otherwise despicable things while seemingly walking down the street, enjoying my dinner out at a restaurant, or smiling at the “unique” dress you’ve so proudly picked out. I think unkind, hurtful, and downright mean things all the time. All the time.

She has toddler head–her head’s too big for her body and it looks like she’s going to topple over at any moment.

Nice uniform–how predictable guys are these days, showing up in the male uniform for going out- the ubiquitous striped button down with sleeves rolled.

What a self-important douche–my boss (the man who included his cellphone number in his “out of office” email response) for showing up in the office this morning because he “got an email” when he’s supposed to still be on vacation in FL.

That bitch can kiss my dented front bumper–the Grand Prix I aimed my Saturn at other day in line at the Dunkin’ Donuts when she tried to cut in front of me.

And on and on and on and on…

I’m mean. I’m not nice. I’m not all cheerful sunshine and “good morning” and “thank you” and “isn’t that just wonderful.” Usually, I’m thinking in my head about how you look like a tramp, you smell like a gym or a brewery, or that your house and/or cat is decidedly not cute. And when I’m really bad, I go out of my way to say something incredibly fake and over-the-top when I’m really thinking quite the opposite.

I know that a lot of girls are catty like that. I know I’m not the only person out there who thinks crap of other people. And I know that I think good things too. I do. Yes, really. But lately I’ve been feeling an inordinate amount of Catholic guilt over my lack of charity. Like, if heaven were keeping score, I’d be failing in the “kindly” category…although I definitely wouldn’t be in it as deep as Baby-hater on the bus, sippin’ on gin and hate.