I have a cutting tongue sometimes. I’d say I’m not sure how I developed it, but that’s not entirely true. I developed it as a defense mechanism. When I was a kid I used it to fight back whenever I got picked on. I wasn’t as strong as those who picked on me physically, but I was observant, keen, and I soon learned that though I couldn’t triumph over them physically, I could win on the emotional battlefield. The old adage about sticks and stones is categorically false. Bones heal. The pain from a sharp word can persist for years, and unfortunately, I carried the ability to wield a cutting word into adulthood. I say unfortunately there with some reservation. There are times when it’s necessary, when someone’s trying to take advantage of me whether it be an organization trying to tack on a fee or some guy on the street trying to swindle some cash from me. But these times are rare. And almost every time I fall back on using it now, I feel remorse, and that remorse persists throughout my day.

At the end of last week, I was standing in line at the train station at the end of the day. A mother had set up a kiosk to sell girl scout cookies for her daughters. I was on my way home and figured I’d stop and buy some for my wife. There was a woman in front of me and I stood behind her and got my money out and waited. And as I waited, another woman stepped in from the side, pushed in front of me and started to order when that first woman was done.

“What am I, invisible?” I said.

It wasn’t the most biting remark nor the most witty, but it didn’t have to be. The right tone, the right level of snarkiness, and the comment proves just as effective. The wry way I delivered it gave the woman pause. My tone was a dog’s growl. The rattlesnake shake. Or really, I suppose, it contained that hint of superior irony that implies you’re looking down your nose at a person, that you find them moronic.

She turned back. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were just standing there with the kids…”

Yes, of course, I was standing there with the kids who were selling cookies with my money out waiting to buy cookies. I could see how you might get confused. Actually, no, wait, I’ve seen lines that were confusing before, and most of the time, I’d stop and ask anyone standing around waiting if they were in line until I found where it ended. Only then would I proceed to get in.

“Go ahead,” she said. But she’d already ordered, and already my remorse was kicking in. Why had I snarled like that? She’d been rude, it was true. But I could have just said, “Excuse me, but I was next” in a civil tone. Why did I go there, why did I go cutting?

“No, you finish, it’s fine.”

“No, no,” the woman said. “You…”

And the scout mother, caught between us, opened a bag, ready for my order. She was so ready to resolve the conflict that I felt even worse about the harsh tone I’d taken. I ordered and paid and walked away. “What do you say girls?” the scout mother prompted. “Thank you,” they said. And I felt low. The remorse I feel, naturally, results from my inability in the circumstance described to rein in my irritation. After all, I should behave like an adult. And meeting rudeness with rudeness is a childish way of behaving. Unfortunately, whenever this happens, it doesn’t occur to me until after I’ve snapped at someone. I could say there were mitigating circumstances, the stress of the day having built up, but that would be letting myself off the hook when I’d like to maintain a standard of decorum this incident didn’t meet. It could have been simple, my response. I kept hearing myself say: “Excuse me, but I think I’m next.” Instead I was that guy, the guy who snapped, “What am I, invisible?”

As I went to the platform, I continued to think about it, to brood, to dwell. I’d seen it coming. I’d seen the woman approach, and part of me worried that I wanted this to happen, wanted to snap and be outraged. It’s kind of like that moment when you’re driving and you see the car in front of you about to do something stupid and you want them to do it just for the rush of justified superiority it gives you. Am I the only one that happens to? I can’t imagine I am. It seems a fairly common human failing. It’s not always unwarranted either, getting upset with someone who does something unthinkingly, even if you could have gone out of your way to avoid it. For example, I almost got hit by a garbage truck in the crosswalk one time. I had the green, but the driver of the truck pulled into the crosswalk and nearly flattened me. I might have avoided it if I’d waited a moment and let him run the red. At that time, I had no problem using my cutting tongue, but that was different. It wasn’t a cookie line. He could have hurt me. But the cookie line was some trivial situation that I’d blown way out of proportion. I should have let it go. I should have avoided saying anything. Did it really matter if the woman who stepped in front of me got her cookies first?

By the time I came to my senses, the train was pulling in. I looked around. I wanted to find the woman and apologize for snapping at her. I might have ruined her day over something unimportant, and I didn’t want that. Her rudeness didn’t matter anymore. But it was too late. I hadn’t shouted or cursed, but I should have controlled myself nevertheless. And it’s this that makes me most remorseful: the fact that I later feel that I didn’t exercise self-control. So I sit and I write this by way of apology. It means nothing at this point to the woman I’d snapped at. But it matters to me that I’m saying it. I’m trying to write this out to let it serve as a reminder. The next time I encounter rudeness, I hope to act with greater civility. For my own sake as well as everyone else’s.