Another...

At this very moment I'm chatting with a guy from India named Jhanuari who is insistently telling me all about the ever incredible Ecobill - even though I keep telling him (command X, Command V) that I'm really not interested in hearing about it. We're waiting patiently ("Cat, thank you for waiting patiently," he says) for my account information to populate his screen. I can hear his accent through chat, and it's driving me crazy. Not because I have something against accents, or against India, or against outsourcing in general (okay, that last part is actually a huge effing lie - outsourcing is so amazingly useless and unbearably inefficient for the consumer...but I digress), but because I'm seething (seeeeeething) though the unbelievable pile of injustice that is Comcast's $25 over-billing of my account. Seeeeeeething.

I'm cyber yelling. At Jhanuari. I'm blasting him with caps. I should be cuffed and muzzled. It's just that I can't seem to overcome the small bits of life that my brain screams and gasps and screams are injustices.  Objectively, as well as after-the-fact, I hate when I get all bent out of shape like this. In the calm after the storm, I usually feel kind of embarrassed (or highly mortified, in the case of IRL instances of fighting tooth and nail with someone over whether or not I should be refunded my 50 cents for the extra slice of tomato that I swear I never got). I just (sniff), I just don't know how to "let it go."

In response to my hyper-sensitivity, one of my friends once told me this: "We must fight injustice where it stands." I think he might have been mocking me. Though of his statement - I tend to agree.

But what exactly is injustice?  Because surely it isn't missing a green light because that stupid old man in the Buick couldn't seem to find the gas pedal. And I really don't think it's a 19 year old barista's failure to fill my coffee cup to the brim while shamelessly charging me...wait for it...full price (gasp!). Certainly we mustn't have a massive cow every time the pendulum swings in a different direction and we get mildly fucked over. Small infractions are just that - small. And the blood on my hands (yeah, I've cut a few people off) makes me just as guilty as anyone else.

I told my friend this much. His response? "This is true." Ah, truth!

So the verdict? Comcast is about to take me for 25 hard-earned buckeroos. That's annoying, right? Right. Unfair? Absolutely. But is it a massive blow of injustice? Ugh. It's not. But it's not as though someone has just raped my mother. I haven't been robbed at gunpoint. No one has invaded my country and set my house on fire. Small beans, Comcast, small beans. 

Thanks, blog. I feel better now.