Perhaps an Excessive Amount of Anger Given the Situation

So, it's -22 Celsius (-8 F) out there today and that's before you figure in the wind-chill. Everyone is bundled up to their nose (I'm wearing fishnet stockings under jeans because I had foolishly let my ownership of a pair of long-johns lapse) and the layers of hats and scarves and hoods narrows our vision and the cold turns our thoughts inward as toes and fingers turn painfully numb. Add an iPod or cellphone and the solipcism is complete, turning streetcars into discrete jostling entities, an archipelago of humanity - St. Thomas Moore never commuted to work on public transit in Toronto in January.

So, it is possible that I did not hear correctly when the sextegenarian man came up to me on the bus as I was pulling the bellcord for the next stop. Perhaps his tone was not as snotty as I thought when he said "I can't get past with you standing in the aisle with your bag in the way." Perhaps he was not the entitled fucking asshole who couldn't wait the 1.2 seconds for me to finish straightening and turn so that I was not standing in the way any longer that I thought he was. Possibly mouthing those sentiments as I made my way past the startled old lady to the front of the bus was inappropriate. Flipping him the bird from the sidewalk as I left the bus was definitely ill-bred.

Then again... it's January - everyone has bags and seven layers of coats and the relative agility of the Michelin Man. He could wait for a second or try "excuse me" before rolling out his castigating little lecture - dicknose fucktard shitbird...