Anger

I see you see me.

You wash your hands, quickly, then pass me by. You act as if I'm not there. As if I won't know that it was you who made the mess. Who pissed all over the toilet seat in the accessible stall. As if I don't figure into your world, as if I am an inadequate consequence to your filthy behaviour.

But I wonder if you see me, seeing you.

And I know on entering what kind of person you are. Too lazy, or in your mind, too above, the action of lifting a toilet seat. No you leave your piss sprayed all over the seat, dripping wet, stinking of arrogance.

I saw you yesterday, in the mall, you walked by me as I pushed towards the one stall that would accommodate my chair and me. Your face became glued by my anger towards you to my memory of seeing that seat, the puddles of urine, and the damnable task of cleaning it up. I had no choice, no other stall to try. So I mopped up your piss.

Later I saw you, in the food court, with your girlfriend. I rolled by your table and stopped and stared at you. I didn't say a word. I saw her face confused, looking back and forth between you and me. I didn't move, just looked at you with contempt.

I wanted you to know that even as you value me so little, I value you less. I wanted you to know that your were beneath my contempt. Someone you see as being less than you, sees you as less than them.

I saw the change in your eyes as you wondered if I was right.

Let me tell you, I am.