riled

And how, you might ask me, did I find myself in a standoff with five national ladies in a women's bathroom? Well, let me tell you.

Today we made the six hour bus ride back to the capital city, and our home. It was a relatively uneventful trip, which is always the goal when road safety is concerned. However, at lunch time things got a little dicey.

Our bus stopped at a large restaurant. While Mr. ordered lunch, I headed back to the bathroom, seeing that another bus had pulled in just minutes after ours. I hoped to avoid the rush, and was glad to see there were only four other ladies waiting in line before me. They were from my bus, which was mostly patronized by tourists.

Things went well and I was just second in line when a national woman calmly walked past us all and took the first stall that came available. The girl in front of me looked incredulous, as did a few other foreigners who had come in after me. We held our peace though. We even took it when yet another, older, national woman walked past us to the front of the line. But when a whole group of five national ladies also pushed in ahead of us, it was just too much to be borne in silence. There were angry looks and "harumphs" of disgust from the tourists still waiting in line.

Now, let me explain. They just don't do lines here. It isn't customary. Don't ask me how things get done; it seems like chaos to me, in which the biggest and most aggressive get what they want first, and the littler guys just have to wait until the crowd thins down.

While I know all this to be so, I felt like I had to stand up for my fellow westerners. I decided to be a little aggressive myself. Urging the girl ahead of me forward I ushered her in front of these women and turned and faced them squarely while she waited for a stall. I said in my most calm voice, in their language, that it wasn't polite to go in front and we all have to wait, and they were making the foreigners very angry—just look at their faces.

This was a little improper for me to do, since younger people aren't supposed to correct or challenge older people. But the ladies seemed to take it fine—mostly surprised that I was speaking to them in their language—and said it was OK, they weren't really in a hurry anyway. (They why… oh forget it.)

Anyway, that was the end of the matter. They waited, and when I came out of my stall, they were still waiting. I think they had even waved some of the other foreigners to go on ahead of them.

Even so, when I returned to the table I was shaken. Literally, my hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, I felt rattled and riled. I H-A-T-E confrontation. Of any sort. And this wasn't even nasty, aggressive confrontation. Still, it left me on edge. Mr. let me talk it out, although he didn't understand what had upset me so, and I gradually calmed down.

We made it the rest of the way home without incident, and were glad to arrive at long last at our apartment. There an ecstatic little cat awaited us. She rolled and kneaded the air and purred when she saw us, but then came to her senses and started yeowling and meowing loudly. I believe she was letting us have it for going away and leaving her alone. Since then she has been all riled up, zipping here and there, careening off of walls and furniture, chewing things she shouldn't.

I just pet her vigorously and tell her I missed her too. :-)