You wanna piece o' me?!!

PMS, PMS, PMS.

KILL, MURDER, STAB.

Stereotypical but true.

Last night after work, with only 4 minutes to catch my train, and a maniacal need to pee, I run to the station bathroom. Gare centrale and only 2 stalls in the lady pee-room. I say "shit, shit!", as there is a line-up of 2 people, and run out, thinking I don't have time. Then I reconsider and run back in. The last woman in line is just going into the stall and she turns and looks disaprovingly at me as she closes the stall door.

I wait, tapping my foot for a bit. I mutter under my breath, "C,mon, c'mon."

One woman is clearly still doing her thing but the other woman (the one who gave the look) has flushed the toilet, pulled up her pants and zipped. Now she is just standing there-I can tell by the angle of her feet. Silence. She is taking her time to piss me off. Little does she know though, that I am insane PMS woman.

I kick the wall once to relieve some stress as I start really panicking about either pissing my pants on the train, or missing it entirely and getting home 45 minutes later than I want. Another 20 seconds or so pass and finally she comes out. I rush past her and speed pee. I come out as she is drying her hands and on her way out the door she says to me,"You shouldn't push people around."

WHAT THE FUCK??!!! She is teaching me a lesson for being in a hurry and being impatient? How about look at your own motivations darling, and consider why you need to passively-aggressively stick it to someone. You can't pee well under pressure? You work in a massage parlour giving hand-jobs to stinky, divorced, middle-management losers and have no other way to exert some sort of power or control over your life?

My self-righteous and hormone fuelled indignation is peaking and rather than turn around and bite out her eyeballs, I wittily(not at all) hiss,"I'm not pushing anyone around. Fuck off."
"You fuck off, bitch." she replies as she makes for the door."
Continuing to hurriedly wash my hands (hygiene first ladies and gentlemen!) and without even turning around I yell, " Why don't you come back here and say that you fucking whore!" Ya that's right. Why don't you come back here and say that you fucking whore.

I had a taste for blood and I ran out of the bathroom, glancing briefly at the feet of the woman still in the other stall who is probably thinking she best stay where she is.

I exit and whip my head left to right, searching with my laser-rage vision for her tall and lunky (probably strong as hell too), frizzy-haired self. I see the top of her head running like hell down-some stairs and completely off my friggin' rocker by now, I run to the stairs with phrases like: "You want a piece of me?!!" or " You messed with the wrong lady, mother fucker!" and "Don't start what you can't finish you pathetic, chicken-assed cunt!" running through my head.

Luckily for me(and her, but probably mostly me) Mr. T yells out my name and tells me to hurry to catch the train. My pulse was still pounding in my ears on the train, partially out of rage and partially out of disbelief at my own insane behaviour. She probably was NOT expecting that to happen. So am I a total jerk? Normally no, (although some might dispute the hell out of that) but during that whole incident, yes. Yes I was a jerk. What can I say? Although I have mouthed off a few (many) times, I have never been in an actual fight.

I still think she deserved a punch in the puss.

Incorrigible.