The other day, a man gave me the finger.
Both of them, actually.
I was driving down a regular city street and took a turn a little too wide. I cut him off. Completely my fault.
The second I realized it, I started waving frantically in my rearview mirror. The universal car apology.
Sorry! Sorry! My bad!
Maybe he couldn’t see me. Maybe he just wasn’t taking apologies that day. Either way, at the next light he pulled up beside me, rolled down his window and gave me the finger.
Then he gave it to me again.
He was biting his lip while he did it, too. Like he really needed me to understand the depth of his displeasure.
And I started laughing.
I couldn’t help it.
First of all, I haven’t been flipped off in years. Who knew people were still doing that? It felt almost nostalgic. A very 1997 form of conflict resolution.
But mostly, his anger was so wildly out of proportion to what actually happened.
I did cut him off. I was wrong. But we were rolling slowly down a city street. Nobody slammed on their brakes. His life did not flash before his eyes.
I inconvenienced him.
And that man was pissed.
On a different day, that would have irritated me right back. I’d have started building my defense before the light turned green.
I said I was sorry.
It was an accident.
Why are you doing all that?
Instead, I caught myself thinking: Damn. You must already be having a day.
Because I know that feeling.
Not the double-middle-finger part. I’m not rolling my window down and risking getting shot because somebody drifted into my lane.
But I know what it feels like when something tiny lands on top of ten other things. Your kid asks you one more question after you’ve already answered 47. Your husband breathes too loudly at precisely the wrong moment. Suddenly somebody cutting you off in traffic feels personal.
Maybe that guy was just an asshole. That’s also available as an explanation.
Whatever his deal was, he reminded me of something I’m still working on: letting people have their reaction without making it my job to fix it.
I did something wrong. I apologized.
He was still mad.
Both things got to be true.
I didn’t need to convince him I’m actually a considerate driver. I didn’t even need him to accept my apology.
He could think I was an asshole.
I could keep driving.
It took me way too long to learn that an apology doesn’t buy you forgiveness.
Sometimes you owe somebody an apology.
You don’t owe them the rest of your day.