Some people just make me angry. Sure, there are terrorists, and they suck, and the way they make their point to the world is wildly misguided. But, and I know this is not on par with killers of the innocent, sometimes I meet people who are so horrible that they put me into a shaking, teeth-grinding rage. I am so infuriated by their behavior that they pulverize and mangle the next three hours of my life in absentia. That's three hours of brooding and stewing and concentrating on their demise that I will never have back. Here's an example. Yesterday, I went out kayaking in Alametos Bay down in Long Beach. It is a 3 mile inland loop of generally calm water that surrounds Naples Island. Though the water is flat, in the afternoon it can be buffeted by intense winds that make any jaunt around quite difficult. I departed from the dock and plunged unknowingly into a strange cosmic vortex that required my doing a full three quarters of the trek with the cursed blast directly in my face. When sitting on a light plastic shell holding a pole with big fans on the ends, paddling into the wind is quite a chore (not one I necessarily detest). A prevailing rule on any crowded stretch of water is that the smaller boats stick to the sides, giving way to the larger ones in the center. This is important because the smaller boats are much slower than the bigger ones, and fast boats screaming along the edges past expensive docked ones is just a bad idea. Another important rule of the water is that if you are facing a boat head-on, just obey the instinct instilled in us through driving on our American roads, and veer to the right. If both boats do this, they will inevitably miss each other, no problem. This can be less obvious on the open waves of the ocean, but there in what is essentially a wet street (with CONES down the center, no less), it is simple, ingrained, and necessary. So, given all that information, the story resumes as I was about two thirds of the way around, having just paddled two miles into the wind. I was hugging the docks on my right to keep out of the way of the plethora of vessels of all shapes and sizes going to and fro along the loop. My head was down, and I was grunting into the wind, each pull a tremendous effort, trying to keep up my precious momentum. A pathetic grinding whine caused me to look up, only to see a hard-shelled dinghy with three passengers heading straight toward me at full throttle. This was not so much frightening as it was extremely annoying, because they were hugging the docks the way a boat half their size would not. I assumed, however, that at some point they would notice me and head to their right, as rules and common sense would dictate. A normal person with average intelligence and/or water experience would not force a small unpowered vessel out into the paths of large fast-moving boats. It soon became clear, however, that the man driving the fiberglass tub in front of me had indeed noted my presence, but (likely due to his tiny brain not being properly seated in his skull) seemed unwilling to do anything about it. He stared absently ahead, with no more interest than a Chevy pointed at a pigeon. With inches to spare, I plunged my left paddle into the water in a backstroke, stopping the kayak in its tracks while turning it almost 90 degrees from its previous course. Then, with my last remaining strength, I dug hard into the water, propelling the craft forward just enough to get out of his eminence’s way. I looked incredulously at the oblivious trio as they came up beside me. The driver was in his mid sixties, well dressed and looking like the most vile kind of egocentric moron. His wife sat next to him sipping on a wine glass, and whom I can only take as their son was about 35 and hulking in the front of the boat. The driver continued on his course, without a glance sideways. (Though the explanation is long, all this took place in a matter of seconds.) When the man got to within two feet of me, I looked him right in the eye, as though saying hello, and instead pointed out, "Next time, you need to go outside of me." As in, next time you see a smaller, slower boat, don't send them into the fray. Stay to the right. Be sensible. Have awareness of the boats around you. It was a reasonable statement, forcefully but not rudely put. They needed to know that what they were doing was at least disruptive if not dangerous. Well, clearly the man and his wife were much more intelligent than I had given them credit for, because they managed to produce an offspring whose mental capacity and thunderous wit could compete with any mouth-breathing football player. A couple of seconds later when our boats were a cowardly twenty feet apart I heard these well conceived words pierce through the buffeting winds from the mouth of the young "man" ten years my senior, "Next time why don't you BITE ME." The emotions that rolled through me for the remaining distance of my trip were tenfold: 1. HATRED 2. Foolishness for letting his developmental disability get to me 3. Anger at the world for letting people like that exist 4. Incredulity that someone would talk to another person like that in front of their parents 5. Incredulity that parents would let their child talk to another person like that 6. HATRED 7. Feelings of unfairness for not having a chance to tell that bastard all the ways in which he was a complete retard 8. Puzzlement about what I could have said instead to get my point across more gently but as firmly 9. Brooding and plotting my revenge 10. HATRED Even now I want to tear that guy's hair off, puncture the tires on his Dodge Ram Pickup Truck (for so he must drive), sink his pathetic little dinghy, slap him across the face, read him the rules of the water, send him to prison, and, oh yes, burn his entire Raider Memorabilia collection. Instead, I gave him a look that conveyed my disgust and pity, plunged my head back into the wind, and continued the loop around. However, I did not stop considering different ways of destroying his life for many hours into the evening. What a waste of a day. But though I always end up feeling foolish for reacting to these people, ten or fifteen days go by and I encounter another one with the same infuriating mixture of rotten persona and tiny cranium and I just want to spit in their face. I suppose it is yet another cycle of life. If only those mean, stupid people would just not exist, this world would be a great deal more pleasant.