All Apologies: A Letter to The Parking Lot Assh*le

Dear “man” I threw my coffee at this morning,

I am sorry: throwing my coffee at you should not have been my first reaction, and thankfully it wasn’t; I allowed you to berate me for a good five minutes before that. I am sorry that I allowed your words to affect me to the point where I actually wanted to hurl coffee at someone.

I feel bad that you didn’t have someone while growing up who cared enough to teach you empathy, kindness, and compromise. When your choice (after being asked to move your car over so I could get in mine later) was to call me a fat bitch, I was certain that no one in your life has taken the time to teach you how to play well with others.

I am sorry I reacted to you the way I did. Screaming back at you showed my own lack of empathy and compromise, but I think you will agree that your reaction to my simple, and nicely proffered, request was a tad over the top.

I wished, for a minute, that your mother had been there to hear what you said to me but then I realized she probably would have been right there with you slinging insults at me, and that is when I started to feel bad for you.

I had parents who taught me to be the bigger person (no pun intended from this fat bitch), and sadly this morning it was not my go-to reaction, at least not right away.

I got a great deal of satisfaction from opening my coffee cup and throwing my coffee at you because doing that meant I didn’t punch you like I wanted to. Instead, I threw my coffee and marched away from you so you wouldn’t see me cry.

I didn’t want you to think that you had that much control over my emotions. I wish I had laughed at you, like you laughed at me while repeatedly telling me that if I lost weight I wouldn’t need three feet of space around my car to get in it.

I regret invoking karma against you, but really I didn’t; you did that yourself. Whether it comes around today or in ten years, if this morning is any indication of the way you live your life it will absolutely come around eventually.

In the end, I am not angry; I feel sorry for you. To live in a world in which insults are so easily imparted to strangers must be very isolating. I hope you have friends that are nice to you, as I do; friends who made me see how sad I should be for you, not for what you said to me.

Because your words mean something about you, not about me.

Thank you for making me a better person.

Jennifer