Bear With Me While I Complain

It’s not secret, I work at the front desk of a yoga studio. I am a receptionist with a Master’s degree. This evening after the first class had started I settled in to try and get some work done. Just as I hit my stride the buzzer for the door goes off. This woman came ridiculously early. Okay, lots of people do. Either they come straight from work because they know they won’t come if they go home first or they need some personal time away from their kids, spouses, whatever. It usually doesn’t bother me. Today I am running on fumes with very little, if any, patience to spare. This woman who seems unassuming enough has parked herself on the floor and is flipping through all of the magazines as if she were just lounging at home. She keeps popping mint after mint from the coffee table into her mouth. Still not so bad, right? Wrong! She is sucking and chewing these mints so loudly I am offended, disgusted, and moments away from snatching the basket off the table so she cannot cram another one into her mouth and torture me with one more minute of sucking and smacking. It is gross! I am repulsed by it. She is not at home. I deserve the common courtesy of not having to listen to her suck down mints. I know I should be practicing compassion and kindness, I am at a yoga studio after all, but I am just not capable of stretching myself to that point today.

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About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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