"Everybody have tea! How come I don't have my tea?" He shook his head dramatically, then turned toward me and the old man opposite me, at the window seat. "She have tea. He have tea. Right? How come you no give me tea? Hmmph!" At his "right?" I nodded and murmered agreement, since it had indeed been the flight attendant's error, but then I immediately regretted it. He was being such a huge jerk about something so small, I felt that maybe he had been the victim of the Great Tea Oversight due to a larger cosmic reason. Maybe people just get the lives they deserve.
I felt especially horrible as I watched the flight attendant--lovely, patient, manicured, and smiling--grovel before him apologizing. (Though of course an apology was due, I would have loved to see her pour a cup of tea on his smug face.)
As she walked away, he sighed loudly and shook his head again, ostensibly to himself but clearly to an intended audience. It occured to me in a flash that this audience was me. I immediately felt ill.
I hate people like that! Rude to servicepeople and proud of their supposed difference in social status. Pompous ass. I am of the opinion that, if you're going to be a jerk, I'm not going to like it, but at least be a jerk to everybody. An equal opportunity misanthrope, as Kate and Linda put it. Don't cuss out your waiter in the restaurant and then turn and beam at me.
I felt like hitting him. But instead I suddenly turned solicitous translater and aide to the old man seated to my other side. He spoke no English, and I would have helped him anyway, with choosing his TV dinner and requesting help with his customs form. But now I oozed as much care and kindness to him as his own granddaughter would, while the ass to my left ground his teeth.
The golden moment came when, at the next meal, the flight attendant neglected to pour the old man's tea. The next time she passed, I smiled sweetly up at her and asked if she would please bring "Us" more tea. The old man and I were an "us" now. He had already set aside his teacup, obviously martyring his soul to a meal bereft of tea.
When the flight attendant returned to refill our cups, I passed his over without his request, and set it gently on his tray. He grinned a big gap-tooth grin in thanks. The asshole to my left seethed.
I wonder, do I get karma points for helping the old man? I would have helped him anyway, but not to the extent that my spiting the asshole required. He looked so upset, and I had to lean over subtly to allow my hair to fall over my face before I allowed myself a big smile. I know it was wrong in the Christian sense, but it felt good, and it's a very mild manifestation of my vindictiveness, since I didn't actually hurt the little fuck.
