Stole Apology
Stole Apology
Old habits die hard, they say! Especially with me. Whatever be the circumstance I find myself in, if I find something amiss, I just cannot let it be, just cannot keep quiet about it.
The teacher in me, I guess.
All teachers are not like this. I have observed quite a number of my fraternity able to keep their cool. They exhibit more control over their emotions. But oh, poor me! The number of times I have gotten myself into unpleasant situations! Always to be left wondering what was it I did wrong. Maybe I am a misfit in their world. Or, maybe they are a misfit in my world?
I was standing in a queue at the ticket booking counter of a movieplex. (Now, don’t ask me why we couldn’t have booked tickets online. It so happened that we were driving past the theatre and… Oh, come on, I don’t have to be explaining all this to you. If we had booked our tickets online, there would be no story!)
So, where was I? Ah yes, standing in a queue at the ticket booking counter. There were two international blockbusters running full house, one of which had been released only that week and the place was teeming with people, most of them impatient, loud, and pushy as if that would get them the tickets.
Just in front of me, in the queue, was a young lady who seemed to be as fidgety as most of the others. Now, before I go any further with my story, I must apologise to this lady for dragging her into my story. You never know, but she could end up reading this story, popular as my stories are getting. But I have to bring her in, you see. My story would be incomplete without her.
So, this fidgety lady is wearing a stole, one end hanging along her left side in the front and the other end coiled loosely around her neck and hanging along her left side at the back. The end hanging at the back fell off her shoulder and, quite involuntarily, of course, she threw that end of the dupatta over her left shoulder with a flick of her wrist. A little flip, like that, a very unconscious, reflexive act. Anyone who wears a stole or a dupatta would have done that.
Her stole, however, had some beautiful beads hanging from the ends and when she flicked it, the beads hit my eye and I went, “Ouch!” It was a very simple, inadvertent act of arranging one’s garment, and definitely not done with the motive of hurting me, but we were in a queue and hence close enough for the possibility of such accidents.
My “ouch” made her turn to look at me and I thought she was going to apologise. It was in order, wasn’t it? But I assumed wrong. She went back to her impatient gazing at the counter, absolutely nonchalant about the chance distress she had caused.
Though slightly irritated by her attitude, I kept my cool and tapping her on her shoulder, said, “Excuse me.”
“What?” she barked.
“Hello,” and here I flashed one of the beautiful smiles my friends love about me. “Hello, just wanted to tell you that when you did that with your stole,” and here I imitated her flick, “the beads hit me in the eye.”
All she did was give me a disdainful look as if I were some scum and resumed her counter-gazing.
I was totally miffed. If she has done it now, she could do it again, not just the stole flip but also the discourteous reaction. The teacher in me emerged. I tapped her shoulder again, but this time, I also moved my feet a bit so that I stood at an angle to her, thus making sure she had to look at me.
“You see, when you did that,” again, imitating her action, “the beads on yo…”
“So what?” in the most impolite manner.
“So, you should be apologising to me. You see, when we are in a queue, especially in a crowded place such as this, chances are we could hurt people by such acts. I know, it was a casual flick but then, you heard me exclaim in pain.”
Now she doesn’t just look at me, she looks daggers at me.
“And you want me to say sorry?!”
I smile my famous smile again. “Yes, that’s what you say when you have or could have hurt someone, isn’t it?”
“You are teaching me?!”
“Yes,” I said, a sarcastic smile replacing my sweet one. “I am a teacher. I teach those who need to be taught.”