There’s no shortage of grouchy people in the world. And there seems to be an over abundance of them when it gets late in a never ending summer. Kid’s love a never ending summer. Adults, not so much.

“What number?” I asked with as cheerful a voice as I could muster in a crowded airport.

“Thirty two,” the well and overdressed middle aged man responded without looking at me.

“Right behind you,” I said and squeezed between him and a similar aged woman with her husband right behind her.

She was dressed well too. Capris, medium heeled neutral colored heels. Her medium length auburn hair was perfect along with her makeup that she’s got down to an art after all the years of practice.

grouchy people

The lady that was sporting number thirty four, one number more than me, in the loading order said to her husband, “People keep cutting in front of me!” her eyebrows, painted a dark brown for contrast pinched the bridge of her wrinkled nose.

I tried to move as far to the side of the line as the adjacent seating would allow, but the woman was still snorting heavy and exaggerated sighs of frustration.

I’ve learned that it’s best to keep my mouth shut in scenarios like that. If I start to interact and a conversation goes sideways I can be less than kind.

When the attendant finally called out, “Okay, ‘A’ thirty through sixty. Thirty through sixty, please.” Everyone moved slowly toward the the check in bell and the sweltering jetway. I slipped behind thirty two. Just as I did my neighbor, number thirty four, let out as loud a “Well’ accompanied by a nasty exhale as she could muster.

I ignored her and took my rightful place in line.

There is no shortage of grouchy people in the summertime

“Can we work in with you?” I asked the grey haired gentleman that had left the leg extension machine and was coming back to reclaim it. I could have ignored him and just taken it, but I’ve been around gyms my whole life and I adhere to the unwritten rules of gym etiquette.

“I have two sets left,” he said.

“Okay, mind if we work in with you?” I asked again.

He shook his head in disgust, “I’m done,” he huffed and started to walk away.

“Nice gym etiquette!” I called to him and tried to look him in the eye. He wasn’t looking back.

Maybe it was the summer heat that got to me. Maybe it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. Maybe it was just this fallen flesh that catches up with all of us sooner or later.

I wonder if James wrote those words, “Be slow to anger”, in the summertime?

Wisdom from God tells me I should see and live this short life differently than the grouchy people, but I sweat too.