Imaginary Smarty Pants

I’ve always prided myself for being someone with a quick retort always ready. But sometimes, I’m too stunned to reply, or maybe just outraged at what the person just said. Other times, etiquette and breeding keeps me from lashing out. On the phone, I’m duty bound to always be polite, keep my cool and to never be sarcastic. Which kills me. Especially with mind- numbingly stupid callers, bigots, outright jerks and free loaders. Real life acquaintances, co-workers and random strangers are a different matter entirely.

Twitter gets the bulk of my rants and sometimes, late answers that I should have thought of at the time of any heated conversations. Anyways, as opposed to other people’s compulsion to always have the last word/s, I’d rather not stoop down to their level and let it go. Making anything a big deal would just stir their malicious blood and I’d rather not participate on such meaningless discourse.

Nothing is more frustrating to someone who likes to care than apathy. That’s also the reason, you never see me in rallies, protests, vigils or anything of that sort back in college. I mean, I’m not always apathetic, and if I do care enough about a certain issue, I don’t think rallies and protest movements does any good but getting an uneven tan. Unless, you like being trampled upon when the authorities tries to disperse the rallying group, get leg cramps, sweat like a pig, strain your voice box from chanting and shouting political crap, be tear-gassed, or die, rallying can only do so much. There are other ways to make a difference. And let’s not delve into some deeper topic that might just make me some high-handed ass because I’m trying to be shallow here.

I’m here to finally answer, slap back, and give side comments on recent statements thrown at me and sometimes to the group I belong to and pretend that the person who said it can hear me.

Caller A (with a heavy Italian? Hispanic? accent):

“Where arrr yuu loketed? You don’t underrrstand Amerikan Taxes!”.

 

 

Imaginary Retort:

 “Of course I don’t. I don’t even understand Philippine taxes to begin with”.

 

What I really said:

“That is why I’ll be connecting you to Billing to help you with that”.

*places caller on hold without asking for permission*

 

A co-worker who keeps calling me Ate1 whenever she sees me as if I don’t have a name:

“Ateh..”

 

Imaginary Retort:

“You’re not my younger sister, bitch. Stop calling me that or I’ll wipe that stupid smile on your face you think so pretty”.

 

What I really said:

*fake smile*

“Hi”.

 

 

Starbucks customer (an uptight Caucasian jerk):

“Ladies, I’d appreciate it if you can keep it down. This is not a playground. If you want to play, go to a playground”.

 

 

Imaginary Retort:

“You own the place, jerk? I’m sorry but we can make everywhere a playground. That’s how fun and free this country is. You want quiet? Get an office with sound proof walls! Better yet, our cemeteries are known for peace and quiet “.

 

 

What I really said:

*Looks at my friends and said*

 “Max’s. Let’s go to Max’s”.

 And walked out.

 

How meek of me. Hah.

Or you know I could just do this.

Cause I am sometimes torn between apathy and being a smart ass
 
Yeah well, my mind is wandering again. And cohesion is still my writing challenge.
 
 
 
 
 
1Ate (ahh-teh)- is an honorary term for older sisters, cousins or somebody unrelated but held in high regard

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