I love this expression meaning, do not engage when provoked, surely an art to hone.
I’m provoked on the hour by an assortment of irritants, from the woman across from me who leaves her wet garbage in the hall when she’s been told repeatedly we occasionally have rats in the basement, to the sassy girl at Starbucks who made me wait while she put on her eyeliner…at 6 a.m…like who the fuck was she expecting, Brad Pitt?
Then there’s those daily encounters driving you to drink which is why you suddenly find yourself at The Carlyle next to a Frenchman with a harelip and bad cologne.
You want to kill the boiler people who, as you write in your overcoat seeing your breath above your computer, have yet to fix the heat that’s been off for two whole days.
Then a girl you know goes off because she’s made a mess of her life and has decided to blame you. Why? Oh, when you’re on your fourth martini, why the hell not.
Toss in Donald Trump, a runner whose spit landed on your shoulder, your fetus of a doctor who doesn’t seem to care you’ve had a headache since July, and not picking up that rope deserves a cash prize.