Big Meanie

I've gotten mean in my old age.

Like, really mean.

I think I used to be a nice person. I have a really cloudy, vague recollection of it. And if I close my eyes and try real hard, I can almost recall what it was like to be nice.

But then I open my eyes again and here I am.

I'm not sure exactly when I lost the nice trait.  It just kinda faded away. Quietly, silently and without my knowledge. Like most of my past relationships.

But I looked up one day and it was gone.  The only traces left were messages scribbled in my old high school yearbooks declaring that I was "So sweet!" and "The nicest person ever!".  Some of these declarations were solidified by being underlined.

That's how I know they really meant it and that it wasn't just a generic phrase. Because if you underline something, it means you really mean it.

So I've wandered for years, with an empty hole where my niceness had once been. Black and empty. And unnice.

I get rare traces of it, though. On occasion, it will briefly burst through my default setting of sarcasm and bitterness.

Like when I walked into the convenience store to get my daily fix of Dr. Pepper. There was a woman standing at the counter that stopped dead and stared at me. I automatically attributed this to the fact that I've moved to a very, very small town and anyone new is somewhat of a novelty.

Until she opened her mouth.

"Oh my god! I thought I was short!"

And I never really know how to respond to that. Like, what am I supposed to say? Do I act surprised and turn around to see who she's talking to? Do I apologize? Do I give a quick lesson on genetics?

But I usually just smile. Sometimes laugh.  Mainly because it's easier.

But she kept going. 

I'm at the fountain, pulling out a cup and she's still talking.

"But next to you, I'm like a giant! You come to like...my shoulders. Oh my god, you make me feel tall!"

It should be noted that the woman was close to 300 pounds. And maybe 4 inches taller than me.  It was hard to tell because she had a frizzy, poorly dyed rat nest piled high on her head. So probably more like 3. Three freakin inches.

And without even trying, it ran through my head. Something mean and biting. Something I could say that would probably break her to her core.

I look at her and she has this look like she's both amazed and triumphant. And it hit me, that for whatever reason, it made her feel good, feel accomplished that she was taller than me. I totally don't get it, but I could tell that's how she felt.

Woohoo! Your DNA determined that your body grew longer than mine! Congratulations!  You win!

But niceness had swept over me. Unexpected and rare. What? What is this emotion I feel?

So I smiled. And laughed.

And paid for my drink while she was still going on about it.

Then I got in my car and thanked God that I had just a sliver of niceness left somewhere in there.

And that I hadn't throat punched her, after all.