Today's Bizarro is made possible by a grant from None Of Your Damn Business, Mofo!
We've all been insulted by uppity sales clerks or receptionists from time to time. When I was younger and more insecure, it used to really piss me off. Now, I'm relieved to say, I let it roll off me with a smile.
Let's say I'm strolling through Nieman Marcus (which, in and of itself, would mean that a dirty bomb had detonated near my home and I could not return without purchasing a radiation-proof hazmat suit and that was the only store within 1000 miles selling them – but for the sake of argument, let's just say I'm in that hellish place shopping) and I ask a clerk how much a pair of white socks are and he says, "$225," and I say, "For a pair of socks? For real? Do they talk or have a stock portfolio or something?" and the clerk gives me snooty look and says, "They're Donna Karan," and walks away smugly.
In my youth, my face would have flushed as though I had been slapped and I would have shouted, "If you could afford $225 socks you wouldn't be working here, you prick!"
But now that I'm older, wiser and more secure, in the same circumstance I would simply tap the clerk politely on the shoulder, shake his hand and with a smile on my face say, "I've got crabs and I never wash my hands."
My hairline notwithstanding, maturity has many rewards.