Boomeranger

Anger can be funny, but only when it boomerangs back on its issuer. Like when you’re trying to get the lid off of a jar of spaghetti sauce. You tap the lid with a knife, inflicting little dents on the cap, and then try twisting it off. It doesn’t give, so you try again. It still doesn’t yield and you start to get frustrated. So you swing down super-hard and end up tagging your knuckle.

Not that this has ever happened to me. Theoretically speaking, this is how an adult male learns to go out and buy proper kitchen utensils (like one of those rubber twisty things).

Frustration on the road can be similarly funny and enlightening. My dad once had an acquaintance who lived a few streets over from our house. I don’t remember his name, so I’ll call him Mr Jones. Mr Jones was probably in his late fifties when this incident occurred. He had been in the Marines before transitioning into some office profession. He’d traded in his military uniform for a suit and tie and complemented his new outfit with a bit too much aftershave.

One day Mr Jones was driving home from work. He stopped at a red light and waited for it to change. A millisecond after the light turned green the car behind him honked.

Well, Mr Jones wasn’t gonna let the affront stand. No way in hell. So he got out of his big Lincoln and strutted back to confront his harasser. He stood before the guy’s open window for a second, doing that stare-down thing. Then he leaned down to share his thoughts with his nemesis.

His nemesis shared his fist with Mr Jones’ forehead. Mr Jones crumpled to the ground.

Black Hawk down!

It’s funny, the things we inflict upon ourselves.