Scene 1: Chase Bank, 8th Avenue. Me, laden with three bags. She: Clad in workout gear, very high ponytail, mirrored glasses. Her head and hands buried in smartphone, she cuts in front of me and then lets bank door hit my face before I can rearrange my bags to catch it.
She: You know what’s ruder? Telling someone they’re rude!
Me: You know what’s ruder than telling someone they’re rude? Letting the door bang on them and then telling them they’re rude when they say you’re rude.
She: Get a life!
Me: I have one. And it’s not rude!
Scene 2: Subway entrance, 8th avenue, three minutes later.
She (appearing out of nowhere, cutting in front of me again): I hope you’re less crazy now.
Me (walking behind her half a step, deliberately): Sooo much less crazy. Thank you! It’s because I have you as a model. And you’re so sane, so pretty, so gracious, so kind….(I am still listing positive adjectives as she hurries away).
Me (addressing imaginary audience that follows us all in the age of social media): Yes, I have put the aggressive back in passive-aggressive. No, I am not proud of my role in this story. Yes, I am still laughing. (Giant hook appears and yanks me offstage. Obviously.) Om-shanti’d, I’m sure!