My family has never done goodbyes well, or at least as well as normal families. We don't really bid farewell to each other with gratitude and warm feelings, because, well, we don't have any. In fact, I think that my parents and I (with some sprinkling in from my brother and sister) use the occasion to get one final shot at each other, via insult or passive-aggressive slight. It's the best time to do it because the other side can't do anything because we're on vacation, ha-ha!
Such was the case yesterday (Tuesday) evening, when I was taking my parents to the airport. We were pretty convivial with each other, although the rush to get through the metro area in evening rush kind of put any petty grievances we had with each other aside because we could miss the flight. However, My Fucking Father, who did go through and invade my privacy by cleaning my bedroom, gave me his usual edict before leaving. I didn't listen, per usual, but the last one got my dander up: "... and clean up your room, and throw away your bottles!"
I have saved a couple bottles which I have placed on top of my desk. One of them is a big bottle of Surly Darkness which I waited in line to get. It was full, but once I drank it, I liked the artwork so much (which I believe was done by a friend) that I kept it. Another was a bottle from the famed New Glarus Beer Co., a Wisconsin-only craft beer outfit whose fable has become legendary on this side of the border. I kept the bottle, given to me by my cousin who personally made the trek to New Glarus, Wisc., in order to enjoy the beer, because of that. And I have a bottle from the Whistler Soda Co., now being made by Blue Sun, a pop soda shop that is not ten minutes away from me. I like their pop, but I kept the bottles because I am going to go back and there and deposit the bottle in order to get a discount on the next bottle of Whistler.
So when I heard what My Fucking Father said, I couldn't believe it. The invasion of privacy is one thing; that still hurts, but I knew when I went to Hong Kong that there was a possibility he would be all up in my business. But I felt so foolish, so stupid, for not even realizing that he took away the bottles. I keep my stuff around, but if I don't notice them, how can I say that they're important enough to me to keep them around? The rearranging of the plastic sports cups onto the top of my desk (some of them were on my dresser) was one of the first things I noticed when I got back from HK. But the bottles? Nope, didn't notice. And he caught me on it.
And so I was pissed from that point on through the rest of the drive to the airport. Some bitch insisted that she cut in front of me as we went from 35WS to Crosstown East, even though I kept the gap between me and the car in front of me narrow and the space behind me was open wide. If my parents weren't in the car, I would've sideswiped that woman to prevent her from getting in front of me. That's how upset I was.
When we finally got to the airport and I stopped, they said thank you. To which I said ... nothing. Nothing. I didn't even look their way. I just hit the hazard lights, made sure the heat was going, and stared out the side window as Mother got up off the passenger seat and My Fucking Father gave her both of their bags through the passenger-side rear door. And as soon as My Fucking Father was clear of the car, I took off.
I didn't intentionally do that. I really didn't. But I had to convey the anger and embarrassment I felt. And the Silent Treatment, which leaves people wondering, "Are they in deep thought or are they mad at me?" is the only way I could get back at him. My comeback to that is that whenever I go to the airport, I offer up hearty well wishes and am met with indifference, if not contempt. Hell, I could say that I learned the Silent Treatment from them. And I could also say that they were getting out of the car too fast for me to say anything meaningful. Or, I could say that I thought they were mad at me, so why say anything? But that's reasoning I use to not say anything around the house.
Whatever the case, my unplanned micro-aggression may very well have had its intended, instinctual effect: My folks, in particular My Fucking Father, may very well have muttered, "I knew he was mad after we cleaned his room." Good.
Except ... after going to Buffalo Wild Wings and to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), I frantically went home to, once he told me about the bottles, to find the bottles. I looked in the recycling bin, although Recycling Day was last Thursday (they come every other week) and so it was very likely that if he cleaned up my room, it was before Thursday. It wasn't there. So I checked back into my bedroom, just in case ... and, well, there my bottles were, at the top of my desk, moved to the corner, but still there. So, My Fucking Father didn't dispose of those bottles after all.
He left a small bottle of water in the backseat of my car. Probably drank it on the ride to the airport. I was so mad at him for doing that on top of taking my bottles from me (or so I thought) that, before I went back up to my bedroom, I put that goddamn bottle of water underneath his side of the bed in the master bedroom, just to piss him off.
Just in case he gets back at me for getting back at him for something I only thought he did while they're out of town, I'm leaving the empty bottle there, just in case. Don't fucking litter.
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