Mr Angry

Everybody has a moment when they become angry. I know I do and I’ve seen normally mild mannered individuals succumb to the red mist and explode in a flash of rage. Usually this is a rare occurrence.

However, the are some people who seem to spend their entire day in a perpetual state of fury, never resting from their wrath until they close their eyes to sleep, whereupon I’ll wager their dreams also involve stomping around shouting and screaming at every poor figment of their imagination.

I like to refer to people like this as Mr Angry or, in the case of ladies, Ms Angry. Let’s not forget that such illogical behaviour transcends gender.

I have worked with such people in the past. We all know a Mr Angry.

Mr Angry fails to control his temper and has a short fuse and the only reason he seems to be calm is because he is waiting for a random person to speak to him so that he can explode in rage.

Mr Angry is usually a bully who thinks that bellowing at people will somehow force them to behave in the way that Mr Angry wants.

Mr Angry also explodes when something trivial annoys him – like this man:

Personally, I hate being angry because ultimately that is undoubtedly a low point. It is a rare event, dear reader, and when I am possessed by rage, my mind isn’t clear and I am prone to say things that I will later regret. I am sure this is the same for everybody.

When this happens to me, I simply walk away from the target of my wrath as soon as I can. The symptoms can actually be physical – increased heart rate, anxiety, depression and high blood pressure are just some of them.

Some people may argue that it is sometimes beneficial to become angry in order to “let off steam” and while that may be true for the occasional hissy fit, I think that if you are constantly angry it can’t actually be that good for you.

Therefore I avoid it when I can – and if I can’t I simply run away from the source of my anger.

Okay, regular readers may say; “But hang on! You often rant and rave about things on this very blog!”

Yes, that is true, but it is a technique that I have honed, certainly over the past few years. Anger is pointless but the ability to “let off steam” on a blog allows me to vent my spleen in a controlled way without the adverse reactions associated with a full blown Incredible Hulk moment. And I enjoy it because I can inject a little humour into the mix.

This is also what I do at work; I strive to “let off steam” in a fun way, which allows people to laugh at me. It’s entertainment in a way.

People who know me really well consider me to be very laid back and this is the truth of the matter. I rarely genuinely lose control.

Yet I have seen people who thrive on this anger, maybe because they have had some success in the past as a result of it.

Here’s an example.

Many years ago, I was working in an edible oil production plant. We had supplied a process management computer system to the company and we were testing it in real time. I had heard of a man whom I shall refer to as Mr Banner (in a similar way to the Hulk) and that he was prone to moments of rage.

Yet whenever I had met him, he has been as nice as any person I had worked with. One day, we were running a test and something went slightly wrong.

We were all trying to find the problem and it was either a computer glitch or a problem with the equipment itself. We were in a control room above the equipment and we had to wear all the safety gear including hard hats and goggles to satisfy the Health and Safety police.

 I looked at the computer screen and after about five minutes of watching what was going wrong, I turned to the guys in the room and told them that I thought I knew what the problem was. We had a test system downstairs and I knew that I could confirm my hypothesis on that machine and actually fix the issue. I said, “Give me ten minutes.”

Now everybody in the room seemed to accept this – apart from Mr Banner. He glared at me and then he glared at each of the other guys in the room in turn.  Then, in a true Hulk moment, he pulled off his hard hat and screamed:

 “PPPPPPPPHHHHHHHAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!”

He hurled his hard hat at the floor and it bounced up with a noise that sounded like a firecracker. His face turned bright red and everybody in the room backed away from him. I stood there open mouthed in shock.

He walked to his hat, picked it up and I could see his inner struggle. I expected him to calm down but he didn’t! Instead, he picked it up again and hurled it across the room at the wall. I was expecting him to turn green but instead his face darkened to a weird crimson colour.

That was my cue.

I turned to the guy next to me who was also goggling in shock and said “I’m off to the test system!”

I left the room and went downstairs shaking my head in disbelief and half expecting Mr Banner to follow me. There was no way I was going to tolerate that kind of behaviour.

Thankfully, I was not followed.

Twenty minutes later, I had found the problem and returned to the control room with the fix. The rest of the day was fine and by then Mr Banner had returned to his normal calm self. I received no words of thanks and he behaved as if the episode had not happened.

What scares me about such behaviour is that it is unwarranted and also the perpetrator thinks that his antics will force people to bend to his will.

However, what makes me laugh about Mr Angry is the irrationality of it all and, sometimes, I have to walk away when I see Mr Angry in full flow, in case I burst out laughing and enrage him further.

Like in this video:

My advice to Mr and Ms Angry is to take a deep breath and walk away. That’s what I do – it works for me – unless Piers Morgan is on the TV.

The Keyboard Warrior (Part Two) - The Soul Of The Troll

A few years ago I wrote a post about Keyboard Warriors, also known as Trolls (you can read it here).

These are people who hide behind their keyboards in total anonymity and post vile and vindictive comments, posts etc. under an assumed name, and cause anger, pain and sometimes worse. They range from being anonymously insulting to being utterly malicious cyber bullies.

A couple of days ago I received a comment on a post I wrote three years ago about my thoughts on William Shakespeare (you can read it here). Basically I said that he was rubbish (or at least rubbish in a contemporary way), in what I thought would be an amusing little article with a witty title – and it provoked a Keyboard Warrior, albeit a relatively mild one, to respond.

My desire for the post, like just about all of the posts I write, was to provoke a little debate, with a little light-hearted humour, giving me a chance to reminisce a little about English classes as school and poke fun at a British establishment. I added a little self-deprecation, as I usually do, in order to make reading the post a fun experience.

I was – and still am – quite proud of that particular post. I received a fair few comments, some of which agreed whole-heartedly with my views, and others that disagreed with valid reasons.

It was a bit of fun and I think most people who read it enjoyed the fun too. The post was even mentioned in a Shakespeare blog (something that made me quite pleased with myself).

And then I received another comment from a Keyboard Warrior called “Edward”. Here it is:

I found this drivel by accident. I'm just amazed that there are people out there like you, very many people in fact, who wear their ignorance and foolishness so proudly. I thought I was reading the ramblings of some over-opinionated teenager until I saw what an old fart you were. 

Now I have a thick skin and my first reaction was to laugh out loud. As Edward quite rightly points out – I really am an old fart – which is why I can laugh about it and take his jibes on the chin. Had Edward actually left me a link to his blog or a profile where I could mail him, I would have done that and offered to enter a debate on the pros and cons of the Bard.

Sadly, like all Keyboard Warriors, poor Edward has chosen to hide behind, what I assume, is a pseudonym. There was no debate, no intelligent responses to my points – nothing more than, effectively:

“You are a dickhead”.

And it is this kind of blind thinking that makes a Keyboard Warrior a menace. While I am thick skinned enough to shrug off such abuse, there are a lot of people who take such insults and anonymous negativity to heart.

Trolls cannot debate; they simply have to say nasty things.

Compared to some trolls out there, Edward is an extremely mild form; he didn’t swear yet he chose to call me ignorant, foolish and over-opinionated as well as an old fart – mild by comparison to some troll output I have read.

As somebody who loves the debate, I always find that when the person I am arguing with resorts to petty insults, then I have simply won the argument because they cannot respond.

Believe me, dear reader, I have had some lively debates over the years and been on the receiving end of extremely heavy defeats.  Unlike your average troll, however, I brush myself down and admit defeat.

There is nothing wrong with admitting that you are wrong.

Most debates and discussions I have end up with both parties agreeing to disagree and metaphorically shaking hands across cyberspace as we part amicably having had a fabulous and sometimes lively discussion.

I pride myself in having the ability to be able to be open about things too. I have changed my opinions on many things because of a well-argued and logical point of view. In my experience a large percentage of people are like that.

Of course I can be stubborn – but at least I can and do admit it.

To be honest, the only times I have fallen victim to trolls is when I have commented on other peoples’ blog posts or dived into a debate on a message board. People who stumble across my blog rarely engage in troll-like comment writing.

On one particular message board, I have seen a troll actually threaten another poster with violence, from behind the cover of a pseudonym of course. Thankfully, the other members of that particular community reacted and rallied round the victim, before the board moderators banned the perpetrator.

Sadly, on other social media, trolls can run riot.

My stance is the same as it has ever been; if a troll attacks me I will respond but without resorting to low tactics if I can help it. However, it does annoy me.

Bullying is something that I have dealt with physically in the past; I despise bullies and in one particular episode from my childhood, the red mist descended forcing me to lash out at the perpetrator without fear of the consequences.

It worked and I never suffered again. I have made a pact with myself that I will not succumb to bullying of any kind and I will do my best to bring the bully down as hard and as fast as I can.

There are people out there who simply can’t do that and, worse, it is even more difficult if the bully is a troll who can hide behind anonymity, sitting there behind his keyboard pouring scorn on the world without fear of reprisal because, he thinks, he can get away with it.

I do pity some trolls though, because I have a theory that they have, in the past, been victims of bullying themselves and consider their behaviour to be acceptable. This breed of troll has been a victim in the past and has decided that he will become the very thing he despised because he thinks it will make him a better person.

It’s a kind of warped view on survival of the fittest. Behind the anonymity of the keyboard, the troll can be the alpha male he wants to be without fear of being conquered by others.

I pity those guys and hope that they see the error of their ways. The best way to respond to a bully is to fight back – not bully others.

Anyway, you’re probably curious about how I responded to Edward. Here’s what I said:

Hi "Edward",

It's very nice of you to comment; in particular it is very nice of you NOT to actually attempt to debate with me about the merits of Shakespeare. I am certain that Shakespeare himself would be impressed by your heroic defence of his work.

Except it's not really a defence is it? Clearly you can't put forward a cogent argument as to why I am wrong; you can't give me examples of why I should care one jot about the bard's work, like the other, more reasonable commentators on this post.

But hey - all I do is write drivel, eh?

If you dare, please try commenting again, this time with an email address or something, rather than under the anonymous name "Edward" and with less of a hint of the Keyboard Warrior.

I am willing to listen to people who can debate - but not people who blindly insult without actually thinking about what they are saying.

:-)

Cheers

PM

I even added my usual smiley.

One last thing, Edward – if you stumble across THIS piece of drivel and feel I am picking on you, then please feel free to engage in a discussion:

(a) Why Shakespeare ISN’T rubbish.
(b) Why you are not a Troll.

Let’s have a debate about it.

Anonymity can be used for many things – but using it to become a troll is something I struggle to forgive.

Silly Campaigns (Part One) - Picking on Pluto

I want to bring a crime to your attention, dear reader. This is not a small crime; this is a crime of planetary proportions – a crime against an entire planet.

This is a crime where the rules have been changed to hide the crime from the rest of us.

You will be shocked, dear reader.

I can barely bring myself to type this…

Pluto is no longer a planet.

There I’ve said it. I hope you are as disgusted as I am.

This crime occurred a couple of years ago and the perpetrators think they have got away with it.

They have NOT and I am here to start a campaign against them and fight for Pluto's rights.

When I was growing up and learning about the solar system, I was taught the names of the planets. Way out there at the very edge of the solar system was Pluto, happy in the knowledge that we on Earth were aware of its existence and had named a dog after it.

And now, a bunch of scientists and astronomers have changed the rules and reclassified poor Pluto as a dwarf planet.

How dare they? What has Pluto ever done to them. Is it so far away that it has been forgotten about? I can imagine the conversations:

Evil Criminal 1: Yeah – Neptune is pretty big but what about Pluto? We may as well forget about it.


Evil Criminal 2: Ha ha – yes! I’ve hated it for years. Let’s just get rid of it.


Evil Criminal 1: Yeah – and we can kick it while its down – let’s call it a dwarf!


Evil Criminal 2: MU HU HU HU HA HA HA HA HA!

Here are the rules they dreamt up to define a planet:

A planet must orbit the sun.

Pluto orbits the sun and takes a bloody long time to do so. It’s stuck out there guarding the frontier and our solar system against evil aliens who might invade.

A planet must have sufficient mass for its self-gravity to overcome rigid body forces so that it assumes a hydrostatic equilibrium shape – i.e it must be a sphere

Well of course it’s a sphere.When it was first discovered in 1930 by Clyde W. Tombaugh he said “There’s another big sphere out there – it is a planet”.

A planet needs to have “cleared the neighbourhood” of its orbit

This is the invented rule that these so-called “astronomers” have used to reclassify the mighty Pluto. Apparently it crosses Neptune’s orbit.

So what?

I know the reason – it’s because Pluto is small. Pluto is no longer welcome in the exclusive club of planets because it is a tiny planet when compared with, say, Jupiter – or even Earth for that matter.

But I don’t care – I welcome Pluto into the planetary club. I say – ignore these petty jobsworths who have nothing better to do than postulate wacky theories and invent rules that mean nothing.

It could be more sinister than that, dear reader, because there are actually two more bodies further out than Pluto – Eris and Ceres (not exactly awe-inspiring names are they?).

Eris is a little bigger than Pluto. I simply do not understand why we can’t announce that we have eleven planets in our solar system instead of nine. Imagine if we met an alien from another solar system; we could ask:

“How many planets have you got? We have ELEVEN.” 

Now because of those scientists we have to say:

“We only have eight planets; but we do have three dwarf planets.” 

Nowhere near as impressive in my opinion. I would imagine that the alien would snigger as the phrase “dwarf planet” was mentioned.

Allow me to make a stand here.

It seems to me that these scientists are picking on Pluto because it is the tiniest planet in the solar system; the runt of the litter if you will.

What I am seeing is nothing short of bullying and picking on the small guy.

I vote that Pluto be re-instated as a planet effective immediately and, as a punishment for climbing onto a pedestal and announcing dictatorial rules to fit their oppressive natures, the scientists who dreamed up this nonsense should be made to record a message apologising to Pluto and personally pay for a spaceship to fly to Pluto, broadcasting their apology to any life forms who may inhabit that cold little planet as well as any aliens within earshot.

Dwarf planet indeed; fight oppression everywhere including planet oppression.

Who’s with me?

The Bully

Picture the scene.

A thirteen year old boy enters a classroom and walks to his desk. He opens his bag and pulls out a bag of his favourite crisps. He is about to open them to enjoy a tasty savoury snack when into the room walks Lewis, a boy who is the same age.

Lewis used to be the boy’s friend but not any more.

Due to a massive growth spurt, Lewis has grown to the incredible height of six feet tall; he is taller than most of the kids and he knows it. His height intimidates others and he has used this to his advantage. Lewis regards himself as superior to everybody else, including his former friend. He sees the boy about to tuck into his crisps.

Lewis marches over, grabs the crisps, throws them onto the floor and jumps on them. The other kids in the class laugh and Lewis relishes the attention. His action has proved once again that he is the cock of the class, if not the entire year. Nobody messes with Lewis, particularly this little runt who once was his friend.

Lewis is a bully who believes that he is untouchable. He can do whatever he pleases to whomever he chooses. Lewis is the king. Lewis is the best.

But this is no ordinary day, dear reader, because the boy has had enough. He was looking forward to his bag of crisps and this has happened before. Something begins to erupt inside him, something that is similar to the effect that causes Bruce Banner to turn green.

The boy is angry.

The boy is livid.

The red mist descends.

“You fracking bastard,” screams the boy and before he realises what he is doing, he has leapt up from his seat. Such is his anger that there are tears of rage in his eyes.

Lewis turns to the boy, considering briefly how best to hurt him.

He considers just a split second too long.

The boy, enraged by this latest episode of being tormented by his former friend, looks up into the eyes of Lewis. Lewis is so tall and so tough.

Common sense is swept aside; fear is swept aside. The boy acts, driven by something deep and primeval.

The boy punches Lewis in the stomach as hard as he can.

Lewis barely has time to register what has happened before every breath is swept out of his body in a massive whoosh. He falls to his knees, gasping. The boy takes advantage of the situation and pushes the now defenceless Lewis into the nearest desk.

Lewis is lost in a clatter of furniture.

Everybody else in the class stares at the boy, aghast at this strange turn of events.

Realising what he has done, the boy is suddenly gripped with fear.

The bully is gasping and struggling to stand up.

The rest of the class are stunned.

The boy comes to his senses and the consequences of his actions become evident. However, rather than running, the boy calmly walks out of the room and into the corridor, shaking with the remnants of rage, but also recognition of the ramifications of his actions.

As he walks away, Lewis bursts out of the room.

“I’m gonna kill you, you little prick!”

The boy runs.

Lewis chases him and eventually corners the boy.

The boy decides to stand his ground; he has no choice. He sees a sports bag and picks it up.

“Come on then, “ shouts the boy, defiantly.

Lewis lunges forward as the boy swings the bag. It makes contact, hitting Lewis in the face and knocking him sideways. Other boys come running, screaming for blood.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

The boy’s strength is sapping and he drops the bag.

Lewis sees his chance and attacks the boy.

The resulting tussle is over fairly quickly. The boys ends up in heap on the floor and his glasses are in the corner, fortunately not broken.

The boy is beaten yet despite the defeat he screams in defiance.

"I’ve had enough of you, Lewis. Do that again and there will be more of the same!"

Lewis laughs nervously, still gasping and rubbing a red mark that has appeared on the side of his face where the bag struck him. Another red mark has appeared on his mouth where the boy managed to connect with a blindly lashed out punch.

The other kids stare at Lewis and then at the boy.

The physical victory belongs to Lewis. The moral victory belongs to the boy.

The boy stands up and walks past Lewis pushing him as he does so. The taste of defeat is bitter, the rage is still present – but the satisfaction of hurting the bully, not once but four times is immensely satisfying.

He smiles knowing that things will never be the same again.

That boy, dear reader, was me.

And Lewis never did anything else to me again.

Looking back though, Lewis did do me a massive favour because he made me realise that bullies can be defeated.

And that has been my philosophy ever since.