RAGE

My temper is truly no secret. I have, in fits of rage, broken my collarbone, dislocated my shoulder, thrown a child up a flight of stairs (age 16)...the list goes on. The truth is, while I have been known to create and receive physical damage from anger, the greatest damage is generally caused by my mouth.

See, I already have a predisposition toward, uh, being mouthy. And Sarcastic. And flippant. Throw a little white hot rage into the mix - and BOOM! Renn throws out verbal combinations that leave people speechless.

I'm not talking about the F-bomb. Or the "B" word. Or any other combination of standard curse words. Oh, no. When Rage hits, I go straight into Rant mode, and include improbable word matches and phrases. Many of them are now legendary at home AND work.

In one instance, I remember ranting to Chachi about the incredible stress I was encountering at work. I don't recall any of the specifics, to tell you the truth. I simply recall the LAST SENTENCE of my rant. My face was blood red, my hands in fists, as I screamed, That frigging jerk won't be satisfied until he finds me sitting in the corner, cross eyed, drooling and STUTTERING!

I paused for the inevitable sympathy, but nothing happened. I turned slowly toward Chachi, expecting at least a hug. None came, as he was doubled over, shaking with laughter.

Another instance involved a rather dramatic co-worker, who insisted that all orders called in from the field were a Rush - or a HOT Rush. Annoyed at his level of misplaced urgency, I began assigning random, arbitrary Rush notes to all of his orders. My boss took me aside and questioned the "graffiti" along the borders of my paperwork. I sighed and blurted out Oh, you know that freaking moron. Every thing is a rush. Or a hot rush. Or a white hot rush. I assigned GREEN MONKEYS to this one. I bet those are pretty important. Can't do ANYTHING without those. For some reason, my boss found it really funny. Now, in times of dire stress, Big Boss will dryly say "It's not like it's a white hot monkey rush".

Finally, I leave you with the scene at a recent Manager's Meeting. As I'm sure you know, these meetings occur when Something is Wrong and Needs to Change Immediately. I hate them. However, as Middle Management, I am required (by the Geneva Convention, no doubt) to attend. One of the other Managers has a tendency toward panic, disorder, and placing blame where it clearly doesn't belong. At this particular meeting, it seemed to be my turn.

Well. I'd had one of those days where rage, indignance, and lack of caffeine all came out to play. I was in No Mood for his crap. I sat quietly, letting him blame me for his inexperience and idiocy until I simply couldn't take it any more. When I finally had a chance to speak, words rushed out so quickly that I had no time to consider them inappropriate. I really didn't care, to tell you the truth.

I inhaled sharply, raised my brows, and blurted Well, hon. I'm not really sure what I can do to help, so I'll be needing your input. What's it gonna take to get you to shut up and do your own freaking job?! Money? Fame? Floor plan reconfigurations? A Pocket full of BITE ME?!

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I stopped. Then I thought Well, it's been a good seven years here... Really, I had no one to blame but myself. The REGIONAL VICE PRESIDENT was sitting next to me. I looked out of the corner of my eye, expecting a nudge - or a kick, or at least a disappointed sigh. Nothing. Seems the VP was too busy trying not to pee his pants to even bother reprimanding me.

Sometimes I think my job security is tied into my tantrums. It's not that people fear me - or even consider me particularly wise. They are waiting; they are biding their time. One of these days, they are certain I will really flip out. I will really lose my mind.

Then, as predicted, they will find me in the corner, cross eyed, drooling and stuttering.