They are out to kill me
Created | Updated Aug 23, 2005
There are two windows in the tiny lottery shop where one can pay nearly all kinds of bills. There are several signs in the shop telling people to form only one line for the two windows. Usually this line is formed in the middle, in front of the two windows.
Today I entered the shop and there was one person being served in front of each window and one man beginning a line behind the person being served at the left window, ignoring the attempts at order. I went to the middle and was thus the first person in line of the one-line-only system. A stomachy man pushed passed me to get at the right window. I said: “I am standing in line.”
He answered in a surly way: “How do I know you are in line standing there in the middle of the shop?”
I did not answer, nor look at him. I have finally learned that when people are in the wrong, they react by asking questions. If you answer them, you’ll give them reasons for telling you how wrong or stupid you are, which puts me, for example, out of action, which is the reason why they do it in the first place. Maybe very young people can deal with this kind of situation because it is necessary to possess extraordinarily fast come-backs with the sole intent to hurt the other one and put him out of action before he can hurt you.
The person at the right window finished and left. I stepped up to the vacated window. The attendant said he could not serve me; the cash register had broken down. Before stepping back again, I looked at the stomachy man who had followed as if he were a part of me and asked: “Will you please let me get back into the line?”
He took a step backwards, so did I and then he shoved his protuberant stomach disgustingly against my back. This got my hackles up. I said: “And remove your stomach from my back!”
He did and said sneeringly, like many men in Brazil like to say to a woman when they know they are in the wrong and which is their strategy number two, “Ah, you are a nervous little person, aren’t you?”
I don’t usually give these people the satisfaction of an answer, except once when a guy said to me “you are very superior, aren’t you?” after he had put on his blinker to the left, coninued ahead, nearly killed me as I was crossing the road on foot and I complained. I had the lucky inspiration to say “Good, that you noticed,” which left him apoplectic to my immense satisfaction, a satisfaction that compensated for the indignation I had felt.
But back to my fellow citizens in the lottery shop. Suddenly from behind me two young men in blue worker’s overalls appeared and planted themselves firmly behind the person being served at the left window. I tapped the first one on the shoulder and informed him that I was the next in line and pointed to the sign “One Line Only”. I know I should not have, but I have not been able to become indifferent to the daily onslaugh of complete absence of manners and order. I continued what I had said with “or can’t you read?” Mean, I know, but they bring that out in me.
I was feeling indignant, I was getting furious. I felt I was invisible. It is a mixture of feelings one usually gets here whenever one is in contact with these barbarian, savage people which make up the majority of the population. They just naturally hate everyone. It seems they don’t harbour a decent feeling in their hearts. They wish one dead, especially when they drive a car. Most drivers are out to kill all pedestrians and most other drivers too. There is a new law that gives pedestrians some legal rights supposed to prolong their lives. The truth is, the people don’t need to practice birth control. They kill each other off in many ways at alarming, inhuman rates. This country has become a jungle with the jungle’s rules: Kill or get killed.
Back to the lottery shop. A general murmur was rising behind me and this must be the sound which precedes lynchings. I suddenly noticed in what dangerous position I found myself. Peole here get killed for much less.
One voice said: “See how you talk to a person.”
Another voice: “That’s why so many people get killed.”
That froze me. They were thinking of killing me, or having the idea planted in their brains. The thought to kill came to them in the most natural way because they were in the wrong and I had insisted on my rights. The number of assassinations would go up even more if all people insisted on their rights, I guess.
The attendant at the right window rapped on the glass and signed to me. I stepped up to his window and gave him my bills and money. He dispatched me speedily, but avoided looking me in the eyes. So in his mind too I must be the villain. Would he help me or does he want me dead too? I thanked him and gladly turned to go without looking at anyone.
I did noticed an elderly man I have known for more than twenty years standing fourth in the one-line-only that had formed. I nodded to him and he seemed embarrassed to know me and gave no sign of having acknowledged my nod. It shocked me that he did not somehow demonstrate he was with me. He must be bloodthirsty too and I had never even suspected it.
