At work, when I'm busy or stressed out or annoyed or a combination of all three, I turn into the same salty, argumentative bitch that I am in traffic, only without the protective metal casing that keeps me from getting all up in peoples' faces and just dealing on them like I really want to. Without that....um. Smart people know that the scowl on my face when I'm really overwhelmed means "Careful, Tex, there's bullets left in them there pistols," and we don't have a problem. Some people, though, just do not fucking get it, and even though I am relatively wee in relation to most of our clientèle, I can handle my shit and I will get all up in anyone's face if I'm in a bad enough mood.
Case in point: Saturday night, when it was super-crowded at The Bar and I was trying to make it back to the service station with twenty quarter-full glasses of beer, some oversized frat boy wearing suspenders (not kidding) knocked into me and hollered "Woo! Cindy's birthday!" right in my ear, which I did not find nearly as festive or amusing as he did. I looked him straight in the eye, half-crazed because I stupidly wore cowboy boots to work and they were grinding my feet into chuck, and said "Listen, asshole, you yell one more time and I will kick you and your friends the fuck out of my bar."
Maybe I should be more tactful. Maybe I should have said "Please don't yell in my ear, sir," but that fucker trembled every time I walked past him, and he was quiet as a church mouse for the rest of the night.
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