Me Thinks He Doth Protesteth Too Much

Last week, I was forced privileged to witness the brutal brain exploding ugliness of another human being’s meltdown.

Did I mention it was ugly?

Through a series of events involving the decoration and fru-fru-ization of a previously plain, institutional public restroom, I saw what can only be desribed as another human being leaping off the edge of the sanity cliff, because someone decided to make our shared private, personal, potty space pretty and homey.

Frankly, I had always been fine with the institutional look. I do simple very well, and we are, after all, working in an institution. Yet I can respect the desperate need of another to make the space where we spend our most inventive and creative moments a little more aesthetically pleasing.

Evidently, not everyone is as accommodating of the needs of the decorating addicted as I am.

The conflict and drama that arose can only be describe as potty-gate. I could elaborate, but suffice to say the only appropriate response was a head-cocked-half-sideways-confused-German-shepherd look.

You know that moment when you look at a situation and you wonder if there is something more than just a disdain for decorating that triggered the nuclear explosion? Apparently that instinct was right. And apparently, I was supposed to learn something about harshly judging another person’s harsh reaction to a situation.

Because apparently Post Traumatic Stress Disorder can randomly screw you up even 30 years later by yanking back to present reality a really devastating, mind-altering experience that was thought to have been dealt with and buried long ago. Apparently, it can make you hate bathroom decorations with a vengeance.

So today, I must trade in my opinion of jerk and asshole for one of sympathy, respect, and admiration to a person who dedicated 20 years to the United States military, who saw things incomprehensible to most of us, and who just happened to have one of the horrible memories resurface by new restroom decor.

The old saying about walking a mile in another man’s moccasins seems appropriate here.

I guess you could call this my Memorial Day tribute a day late.

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