The Coffee Table

I Hate it When…

I hate it when I start a sentence with “I hate… ” as in “I hate it when Walmart rearranges things,” or, “I hate people who do X.” Or my late husband’s notorious semi-annual refrain, “I hate it when NPR interrupts programming to ask for money. 

Hate is strong stuff. There’s too much of it floating around, and, if given a foothold, it seems to reproduce exponentially. Thus, I’m inspired to take action to thwart it.

I don’t really hate much of anything. Not even snakes or cockroaches. (Well, the latter is a real test of my character.) If I don’t recognize a particular snake as one of the “good guys,” I get anxious. I retreat. But I feel neither disgust nor hate. 

It’s annoying when I can’t find something in Walmart—something that I could find for the last ten years but is now hidden. But hate? Not really. I’ll find it. I’ll get used to its new location. Or I’ll go to another store.  

I read in a psychology magazine that “Hate is a mask that covers insecurities… When we’re insecure, it’s typically because we fear something. Something threatens us.”

Makes sense. If I’m lost in Walmart, I might feel foolish. So I might hate Walmart for putting me in this predicament.

I found myself searching for garbage bags in that infamously rearranged department store the other day, and came upon a woman in the same situation. She was talking—to herself, as it turns out, but since I thought she was talking to me, I responded, reaffirming her right to be disgruntled at having lost her bearings in Wallie World. She followed-up with, “I hate this store.  I hate…I hate…I hate…” and so on. She was really bothered by the search for garbage bags, and raved on about how she tries not to shop here. Ever! Not if she can help it! 

She finally found the hidden items and scowled her way down the aisle.

I had tried to commiserate. To lighten her hateful load. But I missed the mark.

Hate can definitely ruin your day.

I do get supremely annoyed at public policy that excludes wide swaths of the populace. Do I hate the lawmakers who invented “don’t say gay” laws, or seek to arrest librarians for checking out prurient YA books to teens? I think not. Rather, they are akin to the aforementioned snakes. Except the snakes are just trying to stay alive. The politicians appear to be donning masks to hide their insecurities.  

I could say I hate their actions. But then I am, in essence, using hate to fight hate, and clearly that makes no sense at all. I am aggrieved by what their hatred does to communities. But to greet hate with hate gets us nowhere. 

And (as I used to coach my darling departed husband) when NPR does its fundraising, I can turn the radio down or off.  I can listen to CDs or pop music that week. I can understand that if they don’t solicit money, they won’t be there when I need them. And I need them regularly.

So—If you should ever hear me begin a declaration with “I hate…” (and I am sure  that’s a definite possibility),  call me on it. I can be disgruntled, dismayed, disturbed, irritated, irked, indignant, bewildered, baffled, bemused, hurt, or hassled—but if I proclaim hatred, please bring it to my immediate attention. I want to eradicate hate, and what better place to start than within my own skin?