You Don't Like Me. You Really Don't Like Me!

Well, the Queen came to town and I didn't get to see her. But, and here's the exciting part, I was driving on I-64 at the same time she was riding on I-64. That'll be something to tell the grandkids about one day. Hey, actually I'm at that point in life where I can tell the grandkid.
True, he's only 11 months, but he is the smartest kid you'd ever want to meet. And cute! He so reminds me of myself at that age. Except, to be honest, I never had the sparkling disposition this kid has.
The fact is I have always had a somewhat rotten disposition. My grandfather used to ask my mother, every time he'd catch a glimpse of my sour puss, "Is that kid ever happy?"
My mother's reply was that, "He's only happy when he has something to complain about." Fortunately, I'm still that way. So, as you can well imagine, I'm a happy guy.
That's the great thing about living in this rotten world...there's plenty of stuff about which to complain. I try and stir things up when I see a situation developing. I hate it when there's real potential for turmoil and it dies down before it really gets a head of steam up.
For instance, I was in my doctor's office a few weeks ago for a follow up visit. When I had been there the week previously, I was asked to hand over my insurance card so the receptionist could make a photocopy of it. I started to ask her then why I had to show my card since they had copied it a few months before that. But, I felt too sick to stir things up.
But, anyway, when I went in for the follow up visit, and the woman asked me for my insurance card, I politely asked her why I had to show it again inasmuch as I had given it to her less than a week previously.
I was nice about it. I was pleasant. I think those of you who know me know that I'm always pleasant.
So I was blindsided when this arrogant excuse for a receptionist pointed to the sign by the window and shouted, "Because that sign says you have to."
There's nothing that gets my blood boiling more than a stupid answer, so I (again politely) say, "That's a stupid answer." I then ask the girl, "If the sign said 'Stick Your Finger Up Your Nose' should I do that simply because there's a sign that tells me to?"
Now, I knew that asking that question would only escalate matters, but, hey, I have a column to write. Am I supposed to just sit around passively and wait for people to treat me like bird droppings? No! I have to force people to do that sometimes.
The rest of the story is not all that interesting. I'd like to tell you the girl was fired on the spot, but, alas, she wasn't.
I do have a knack for irritating others. I think it's what has helped me get to where I am today. I had to tell an archaeologist off recently. He had written an article for our magazine...worst writing I'd ever seen, to be honest.
But, because I hate to hurt someone, rather than tell him that he had the writing skills of a six-year-old, I simply did a little editing and sent it back to him. He called me up, screaming about how I had ruined his masterpiece. "Everyone tells me I'm an excellent writer," he screams. "I conduct tours and people say I write like I talk."
"Maybe that's your problem," I tell him.
"You're just a little man," he tells me.
"And, you're the worst writer I've ever encountered," I tell him.
All in all it was a pleasant conversation. We simply agreed to loathe each other.
I have somewhat mixed feelings about my encounter with him. I hate for it to be said that 100% of all archaeologists with whom I've ever had any interaction, hate me. But, on the other hand, how many of you out there can say you've had the pleasure of screaming at an archaeologist?
I can also say that I've had a bit of a run in with everyone who works for Queen Elizabeth. I had mentioned that I had requested press credentials to see the Queen. Some one from her office phoned me and told me that I was too late. I told them that if I couldn't see the Queen, then our magazine would do an article on Elton John. This person from the Queen's office didnt' find that amusing.
He did tell me I could go to the state capitol and watch her on a giant jumbo screen. Now that makes sense. In other words, I can go get in all that crowd just to watch the Queen on TV. My thinking is that I could kinda do the same thing at home.
The gist of his reply had to do with suggesting I do just that.
So, there you have it. I'm proud to say that a direct representative of Queen Elizabeth likes me as much as my doctor's receptionist, and, oh yes, this archaeologist fellow.