Hissy

I don’t know if it is hormonal imbalance, aging, lack of sleep, anxiety, too much caffeine or a freaky amalgam of all these, but I have been feeling ‘out of sorts’ lately. I get irritated at people at the slightest stir, whether it’s with my rambunctious nephews, a noisy coworker, a car driver that honked at me while I was crossing the street, a nosy neighbor, a sloth-slow service crew—practically everyone can tick me off so easily.

Photography by Erkin Demir

I’m quite annoyed at myself as well when I’m like this. See, I’d ordinarily shrug off minor hassle and move on. After all, I believe it’s not the stress that would eventually kill us, but it is our reaction to it. I try every trick in the book when the negative feeling is brewing and most of it was a series of inhales and exhales. I wouldn’t want to react impulsively and regret it later on.

But yeah, it’s quite challenging not to snap at some people these days.

Last weekend, I went to buy my mom some takeout at a Filipino-Chinese fast-food chain. The groceries were already particularly heavy for my right shoulder and I’m carrying another tote bag on my other hand. I was swearing under my breath when I saw the long lines to the takeout counter and was thisclose to turning back, but the better part of me however, decided to stay and wait.

The line was moving at a glacial pace, thanks to this woman at the counter who was just standing there staring at the menu display board like it was Jason Momoa’s half-naked bod. It took her so much time to decide that she wanted a chicken over the shanghai lauriat.

Behind her was a father with a toddler throwing a fit for being there instead of the McDonald’s next door. I wonder why he can’t get the little boy to stop his outburst when people are already looking. And the high-pitched scream feels like a jackhammer inside my head.

No Happy Meal for you, kiddo.

I can feel the painful pressure pulsing in my temples and the bright lights of that crowded place is forcing my teary, swollen eyes to squint. It was also so noisy in there and many of the tables are either occupied or dirty. I can point out so many things in one spot that can trigger me.

D’yos ko po, I said to myself.

After several minutes, I finally got to my turn at the counter. I was no longer in the mood for niceties so when the female service crew greeted me ‘good afternoon’, I didn’t answer. Instead, I went on dictating my order that I have already memorized thanks to the long wait.

“Two pork chao fan with siomai top—”

“With drinks?”

“Wala po.”

She nods so I continued, “Okay, pork chao fan with siomai toppings, tapos—”

“Steamed or fried?” she interjects, which threw me off a bit, but I managed to answer steamed after realizing I was being asked how I want my siomai.

“Tapos isang siopao box na bola-bola.”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

A momentary pause and then, “Ilan pong siopao?”

I can’t believe this.

“Isang box. Yung tigatlo.”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Asado or bola-bola?”

Oh God.

“Bola-bola `nga.”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

I doubt that she got it so I was looking intently at the POS system to see if she punched the correct order. From there, I saw that she only punched one pork chao fan with siomai (instead of two) and the siopao box.

“Miss, dalawa po `yung—”

“Dalawa po yung siopao?

“Hindi!” now there’s exasperation in my voice, “Dalawa yung pork chao fan with steamed siomai tapos isang box ng bola-bola siopao!”

Punch. Punch. Punch.

I was about to rail at her but it was only then that I noticed the burn scars on her right cheek and ear. For a moment there, I froze—then looked away. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable if she sees me staring.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

After she gave my order total, I handed her my 500-peso bill. That’s when I saw that her right arm was badly burned as well and she has no thumb and index finger.

That hit me. The female crew is a burn victim. Maybe second, maybe even third-degree.

At that point, I felt guilty for being snarky at her. I mean, yes—she did have difficulty taking and understanding what I’ve ordered, and she interrupted me more than once, but I could have been more sensitive and considerate with her. I don’t have the slightest idea of what she’s been (or still going) through. Who knows if the burn had made it hard for her to hear? Or if the scars affected her motor skills and concentration? Or her stamina?

She handed me my number and my change using her three remaining digits. I gave her a smile and said thank you.

I sat on a corner table and watched her from afar. She was really having a hard time getting the customer’s order the first time, but I can see she was trying her best. Every once in a while, she’d leave the counter to serve drinks or take the tray out, then goes back to man the counter again. All I can think of at that time is how glad I was that the establishment is giving a chance by hiring people like her.

Suddenly I felt compassion and empathy towards that female crew. Here she was trying to make a living and I am giving her an attitude over something I could just let pass. It also left me reassessing myself; I realized how often I react to what I perceived as an inconvenience caused by other people. Perhaps it’s about time to be extra patient as not everything is about me.

I am still working on how I can successfully ignore the things that some people do that bug me, but I guess that’s the tita in me creeping out and making it all harder. The wick of my temper may be shorter than ever, but a little forbearance might just help.