I recently shared a humorous {in retrospect} story with a friend, where I felt compelled to leave a raged-induced voicemail {at 1 o’clock in the morning, no less} meant for the maintenance department who handles {‘handles’ being a very generous term} work orders in my apartment complex. Problem was, it wound up in the main corporate mailbox, and was fielded by probably the nicest, most competent woman employed by said corporation. Whoops.
All this, to demonstrate that {sometimes} going with your gut and reacting based on rage {or some other emotionally-induced trigger} may not always be the wisest choice.
Of course, we know this already. It’s common sense. All that talk about taking a deep breath, calming the mind, stepping away from the situation in order to assess it from a more objective perspective at a later date. Sound philosophy. Too bad what the mind knows and the heart wants don’t always line up.
And what did I want, exactly? To exact revenge on the poor maintenance worker who clearly misread an automated order {nearly six days after it was submitted, for the record} and saw fit to leave a note shoved through the mail slot, rather than use any of the three contact methods listed on my account? Hardly worth it. To elicit a response from the corporate bigwigs who clearly care so little for general maintenance issues that they’ve failed to replace any appliances in the last two decades {short of the one unfortunate time when my dishwasher saw fit to flood the kitchen floor} and have moved forward with automating requests to the point that most are neglected and/or result in ‘repairs’ being done with used parts? Sure, but would they even bother to register such a complaint? Unlikely.
No, my goal was to eviscerate someone {anyone} as a means of symbolically unloading all of the pent up frustration gathered over the course of days {weeks} from many other channels of life. Because it’s far less taxing to burn one bridge than, you know, all of the bridges. Especially when it’s fairly apparent, deep down, that you probably should put the torch away and meditate for a minute or two.
As I recounted the context of my now legendary voicemail, it quickly morphed from irate play-by-play to hysterical anecdote — punctuated by the parting sentiment: ‘Here’s my phone number, yet again, but don’t even bother to call me back.’ This may have been followed by the equally ludicrous statement: ‘Don’t even think of sending anyone from maintenance at this point. I’ll just get by with three {stove} burners from now on.’
Yes, I was an absolute child about the situation. Yes, I recognize how silly it all seems now. And yes, I am attempting to recalibrate my reactions to minor inconveniences going forward before, as my friend so aptly coined it, ‘three burnering’ anyone else.
You’re welcome for the laugh. {at my expense}
Happy Thursday.