Am I the asshole?

Today, four brief stories where I wonder and ask, am I the asshole?① It’s a racial stereotype that Asian women don’t stand in line. It’s also true. I’ve lived in two largely-Asian cities, San Francisco and Seattle, and seen so many Asian women cutting in line, it must be a cultural thing from China or Korea or someplace. Asian men stand in lines, but many Asian women have no understanding of the concept.I don’t remember ever losing my temper about it, until a week or so ago. I was downtown, waiting for my bus home, which was running substantially late and comes only twice hourly, so a crowd of people was waiting at the stop. About ten of them were Asian ladies, traveling in a flock as they often do.

McKayla Maroney

The bus approached, and half a dozen people lined up to get on. The Asian ladies, of course, didn’t join the line.When the bus stopped, the first person in line got on, and from the left, an Asian woman wedged herself in front of the second person in line, who shook his head a bit, but said nothing.The guy third in line was me, but an Asian woman pushed her way in front of me from my right. I made a McKayla Maroney face but kept quiet, until another Asian woman began nudging herself in front of me from the left. At this, I firmly jettisoned my arm between that woman’s head and the door of the bus. It was a blocking move, but don’t worry, it missed her head by more than an inch, easy.She squawked something I didn’t understand, but the gist was, How rude of you!To this is I replied far too loudly, “Queuing!” but I wouldn’t want to make a scene or anything, so that’s all I said, and she squeezed in front of the person behind me in line.Am I the asshole?② At the diner, I was enjoying breakfast with Mom and the family. I’d ordered a cheeseburger deluxe, which is a fine breakfast that comes with a salad.The dressing is on the side, in a small mini-bowl. Thousand island, about two heaping tablespoons. I lifted the mini-bowl, and poured some dollops of dressing onto the salad. It’s thick dressing, so lots sticks to the bowl, but about half plopped onto the salad.Mom says, “Are you having a little salad on your dressing?”Everything had been bliss until that moment, but she’s my mother, and nobody angers me quicker and deeper than she. I was instantly furious.This was a light dosing of dressing, not lots, but there’s no winning an argument with Mom, so I didn’t defend myself. For the next few minutes of conversation at the table, I was wordless, flashing back on all the ways Mom’s always judged me.Eventually I forced a fake smile on my face and said something about something else to someone else at the table, but it’s a week later and I’m still seriously miffed by my mother’s wisecrack.Am I the asshole?③ My nephew George is a football fan. Go, Seahawks. Go, Huskies.I’m not big on sports in general, and specifically dislike football, for the concussions and all the dead kids, sure, but mostly because the people who are most enthusiastic about football tend to be the same people who love God and guns and Donald Trump — like my nephew George.He pointed out that I never let him text me good news about the Seahawks, without responding with something negative about football, football fans, or just saying that I don’t give a damn.”Hey,” I texted back, “if you don’t want texts from me shitting on football, don’t send me texts about how great the Seahawks played.”Am I the asshole?④ I live in a boarding house, where the kitchen and bathroom are shared between several flatmates. One of them, Dean, bugs the bejeebers out of me, but instead of re-explaining why, here are a few random links to some past complaints about him.
Our kitchen is where Dean drives me nuts, and the bathroom is where I take vengeance. He leaves his loofah hanging on a peg in the shower, and many times I’ve used it to wipe away grunge and slime that accumulates on the shower walls. I’ve also scrubbed the visible muck that accumulates at the top of my water jug, using Dean’s toothbrush.Am I the asshole?Pretty sure the answers are yes, yes, yes, and yes, but reply below if you disagree.9/26/2024   itsdougholland.com
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8 responses to “Am I the asshole?”

  1. granville Avatar
    granville

    Should we answer this? I'll go the autobiographical route:

    1. No. It's not easy for me to bend my animalistic instincts and I assume it's not easy for anyone else, but if I can do it in an effort to be civilized and make life easier for others, they can do it too. I have to admit that I have never heard this about Asian women being habitual line-cutters though?

    2. Parents fuck us up. I have to admit that I feel ashamed every time I get very upset about something petty, but I have yet to connect that to changing my behavior. Writing this kind of made me realize that I have a great sense of apprehension about upsetting my mother in any way. Wasn't really conscious of that before, so thank you.

    3. No. Listening to other people go on about sports you don't care about is like listening to someone read from their dream journal. If it comes up in convo I'll probably signal that I really don't care but texting me about something that they know I don't care about (and which is as trivial as sports) is the asshole move.

    4. Feels pre-meditated and mean, which is probably the definition of asshole?

    1. Doug Holland Avatar

      Guess I'm 1½ assholes out of four. Not bad.

      1. You got me curious enough to google it. Guess it isn't just me.

      2. It feels like I'm screwed up in the head — I'm very apprehensive about upsetting my mother, but she has no hesitation at all upsetting me, seems to enjoy it.

      3. Thank you. That's the only one I was pretty sure I was innocent.

      4. On this one I know I'm guilty… but it feels like I've earned the right, by enduring Dean's ongoing existence.

    2. granville Avatar
      granville

      I need to move to a city with a larger Asian population to study this phenomenon firsthand!

    3. Doug Holland Avatar

      The other phenomenon is cheap Asian restaurants everywhere, so try it, you'll like it.

  2. johnthebasket Avatar
    johnthebasket

    I'm not sure the problem is/are sports: I think it is money. My favorite baseball player is Bill Hain who played for the 1962 Tacoma Giants and hit a respectable .256, while committing only three errors all year. He never made it to the majors, and in the off-season he worked in the Sears appliance department, selling washing machines and refrigerators to Giant fans. He couldn't afford an apartment, so he lived with his girlfriend and her mother across the street from my family (I was 10). He never dogged it: he dove for every ground ball that was out of reach and clearly loved the game. On the rare off-day he'd occasionally come out and play catch with the neighborhood kids (and give us a few tips). He treated his "adoptive" family like a gentleman should. He'd occasionally bring home batting practice balls and sign them for us. He seemed to actually enjoy talking baseball. Bill Hain is my idea of a sports hero.

    John

    1. granville Avatar
      granville

      Probably about 3 decades or so after that, I lived on the floor above a group house used by members of a minor league ballclub. My buddy came over one night to listen to music, paused on the stairs and dramatically inhaled before saying "Barbecue and Brüt cologne… smells like minor league baseball!" One of them was standing outside having a smoke and started laughing. Like Brad Pitt says in Moneyball, it's hard not to get romantic about baseball…

    2. johnthebasket Avatar
      johnthebasket

      My Grandpa Jack got me turned onto baseball when I was about six. When I was 12, I was lucky enough to run into Bill Hain who played for my hometown AAA team which charged fifty cents for a pretty good grandstand seat. I'm not suggesting that this is everybody's experience. I live 30 miles away from a major league team and I can't name a single player on the team. Can't even name a married one. And I'm not interested in rooting for laundry. Way too much money, way too much gambling, way too many sponsors for everything from a bunt to a fart during a pickoff play. It's sad. When the Giants were in New York, Willie Mays payed for game tickets and busfare for a couple of kids in his neighborhood for many of the home games. If that sounds like romantic trash, than for godsake, find me more romantic trash.

      John

    3. Doug Holland Avatar

      I feel like a sucker whenever I stop and ponder why I still give a one-third of a fart about my lack MLB franchise. They're all jocks, and every jock I've known was an asshole (so am I, but they were more so). Most are millionaires, and even the unfamous rookies are making more per at-bat than the price of a fancy dinner. And yeah, the advertising on everything makes the games unwatchable on TV, unlistenable on the radio, and actually attending is unbearable in several different ways.

      And yet, I sorta still give a hoot, and baseball remains my favorite sport, since I care absolutely not at all about any of the others.

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