Okay, this is probably stupid, like, I know it's not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but it’s been bugging me, you know? It happened a few weeks ago, at the library. I go there a lot, still. Old habits die hard, I guess. After all those years behind the counter, it’s a bit strange being on the other side of it, just a regular patron. And honestly, it’s mostly nice. No more dealing with overdue fines or explaining the Dewey Decimal system for the hundredth time. But then this thing happened, and I can’t shake it. I was standing in line, waiting to check out a couple of mysteries. The library was pretty quiet for a Tuesday afternoon, just a few people browsing the new releases. I was behind this woman, maybe in her early thirties, with one of those elaborate coffee drinks and a tote bag that probably cost more than my first car. She had a pile of books, mostly true crime and some kind of self-help stuff. I wasn’t really paying attention, just kinda staring at the back of her head, you know, waiting my turn. And then, out of nowhere, it hit me. Like a lightning bolt, seriously. This urge to just… SCREAM at her. Not just a little yell, but full-on, spit-flying, utterly unhinged shouting. And not just noise, but actual words. Really, really nasty things. Like, "Your hair looks like a bird's nest and your coffee smells like despair!" or "Do you even READ those books or just buy them to look intellectual?!" Horrible, totally unprovoked insults. And for a second, a split second, I could feel the words forming in my throat. My jaw actually tensed up. It was so… physical. The urge, I mean. And it scared me a little, how much I wanted to do it. All these years, you spend your life being polite, being professional, biting your tongue through endless boring meetings and insufferable colleagues who think they're hot stuff because they made VP of something or other. You learn to put on a face, to smile and nod even when you’re thinking about how much you’d rather be anywhere else. All that "professionalism" and "decorum" they drilled into us during performance reviews. And I did it, you know? I played the game. I got my promotions, I retired comfortably. I was always the quiet, reliable one. "Evelyn, she’s so steady," they used to say. "Never a fuss." And it was true. I never caused a fuss. Not once. Not even when Brenda from accounting kept stealing my stapler, or when Mr. Henderson would drone on about his golf game for an hour when all I wanted to do was finish my reports. You just… internalize it. You learn to swallow it down. But that moment in the library, it was like all those swallowed words, all those unspoken frustrations, just bubbled up to the surface. And not just harmless gripes, but actual vitriol. Things I didn't even know I *felt*. This woman hadn’t done anything to me. She was just… there. Existing. And I wanted to unleash a lifetime of suppressed annoyance on her. It felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the wind was just begging me to jump. Of course, I didn't do it. My turn came, I checked out my books, I even managed a polite "thank you" to the librarian, who, bless her heart, looked exactly like I did thirty years ago. I walked out, got in my car, and drove home, and the whole time I was just replaying it. That feeling. That pure, unadulterated desire to just… explode. It’s not like I’m going to start yelling at strangers, you know? I’m still Evelyn. I’m still the quiet, steady one. But it made me wonder, what else is in there? What other completely unreasonable, borderline unhinged thoughts have I just… buried? After all these years of being "appropriate" and "respectful," of climbing the ladder and keeping a straight face, maybe there’s a whole other person lurking underneath. And that's a bit unsettling, isn’t it? To think that after all this time, I’m still finding new layers of… whatever this is. It's just a strange thing to realize, that you've been carrying all that around. And for what? So people think you're "nice"? Please.