Not Wired Like Me

So, this has become my mantra.  I tell everyone this.  Even the mailman as he shows up thirty minutes later than his appointed (my expectation) timeframe.  “You’re late today…what took you so long?”  “Ya, know, you’re not wired like me.” I offer.  He just stares back at me.  Wha…?

I use this refrain when I join the check-out at any grocery store.  It doesn’t matter that there is only one person ahead of me with one item in her/his hand.  That’s too long to wait.  I shift my weight and heave a sigh…an audible sigh.  They have to get the message after all.

I recently spent an arduous 5 minutes on the phone speaking to an insurance rep.  You see, my car had undergone a hit.  A woman backing out of her driveway backed into my car.  Most of the damage to my car, of course.  I have been the victim of moronic behavior on the part of other drivers since I was eighteen.  Twice before I even turned twenty, and twice since then.  Two times in the same car.  My beloved Mini Cooper.  I was never the driver at fault.  That distinction belongs to the other four drivers.  Oh, and by the way, the hit-and-run I became a victim to, just last Summer, was loads of fun as I spent some time spinning across the freeway lanes until I came to a rest out of the way of traffic.  Now this.  So, imagine my state of mind.  Do I have a bullseye on me?  As I spoke to the rep, I became more agitated as he shuffled me from one extension to another.  Seems I had the wrong department.  Aargh…  Finally, I was yelling at him and I had to set him straight.  “I am the offended party…I am the one who got run into…I am a bit tense as you can imagine…and I am manic!!!!”

I am wired differently.  You are not wired like me.  Amen.

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