6
Wednesday, May 27, 2020 The Nugget Newspaper, Sisters, Oregon
In the
PINES
By T. Lee Brown
Plank Dude &
the Aggro Pass
One Friday morning eight
years ago I gave an Aggro
Pass to a stranger. <Aggro=
is short for aggressive, aggra-
vated4you know, being a
thoughtless jerk. Little did I
know that soon I would need
many a pass myself, from
friends, family, and strangers.
My husband biked off to
work that morning, turning
figure-8s in the road while
our toddler son waved out the
window, just like every week-
day. Toddlers love things that
repeat in predictable patterns.
He and I had a Friday rit-
ual: our weekly bus ride to the
diner, a journey chock full of
satisfying samenesses. We9d
walk down Taylor Street.
He9d holler <City bus!= when
it roared up to our stop. At
the coin box, my son always
relished the metallic sliding
sound each quarter made on
its way down.
The servers at the diner
knew our names. They knew
we9d order eggs and bacon,
scones and jam. My son
and I would reliably fight
over the packets of butter in
their brassy, printed foil; he
wanted to stack them up and
let them melt over his hands
and scones and clothes. I pre-
ferred alternative activities,
such as hiding the packets
under a napkin and hustling
them onto someone else9s
table.
After breakfast, we9d
stroll by the apartment build-
ing with all the motorcycles,
and whether or not any were
parked outside that day,
my son would note sagely,
<Motorcycle.= Eventually the
bus would come and we9d
head home.
On that Friday we set out
on our usual journey. Our
smooth pattern was inter-
rupted on Taylor Street,
where a house was being
remodeled. As we walked by,
two construction workers 4
one thin, one stocky, like in
an old vaudeville routine 4
stood on the porch. The big,
pink-faced, bald-headed one
held a substantial plank of
wood about 12 feet long. The
thin, pale, hippie-looking guy
watched languidly on.
Beefy guy paused, watch-
ing us. Suddenly he chucked
the giant plank toward the
street just beyond us. The
board crashed to the side-
walk, narrowly missing me
and my toddler companion.
<Whoooah!= I heard the
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thin worker gasp. I also heard
myself muttering, <What the
%^%$##!?= over an inner
hum of shock that rapidly
gave way to fury. I began to
turn, to march up the porch
steps and confront this jerk.
It would not be the first
time my son had witnessed
his mama confronting an enti-
tled guy on the street who9d
overstepped his bounds. But
this situation was different
from those.
Plank-heaving jerk dude
might be seriously off the
rails, for one thing. A con-
frontation could be dangerous
for me and stressful for my
son. For another, my adorable
child9s safety was my reason
for getting so steamed, and he
was unharmed.
And so 4 as I had done
before, as many a woman has
done in many a situation 4 I
walked on, without saying
anything.
The skinny construction
worker apologized after us,
then hollered to his larger col-
league, <Man, what is wrong
with you?!=
The question struck me
with great resonance. What
is wrong with him? Why, it
could be anything. This guy9s
wife could be at home dying
of cancer. His dad could9ve
just died. He could be kicking
meth or fighting a migraine.
<Just keep walking,= I
told myself. <Give the guy
an Aggro Pass.= An image
popped into my mind: a mid-
dle-school hall pass meeting a
Get Out of Jail Free card from
a Monopoly game.
Pass holders get to cut you
off in traffic now and then, or
use the Express Line when
they should be in the regu-
lar line. Maybe even heave
a plank. You don9t have to
freak out about every iota of
Aggro Jerkery you encoun-
ter, I told myself. You get
to choose when to mentally
hand out passes from your
internal cache.
The concept cheered me.
The theory wasn9t rock-solid
4 would everyone give most
of their passes to the same
handful of aggressive types,
who would then keep acting
like jerks? 4 but I appreci-
ated its simplicity.
I felt sorry for the guy,
actually. Whatever my issues
4 and there were plenty 4
I had accomplished what he
could not. I9d subdued my
inner jerk-with-a-plank, at
least for one morning. By the
time we boarded the city bus,
coins clinking, my blood had
cooled.
Toddlers sure love repeti-
tion. They love vehicles, too:
trains, buses, cars. They also
love music.
On the bus, we belted out
a classic tune as the sights
rolled by. <The wheels on
the bus go round and round,
round and round, round and
round,= we sang in a trifecta
of toddler bliss, probably driv-
ing the other passengers nuts.
No one confronted us.
Maybe in their minds, they
just handed us an Annoying
Kiddie Song pass and let it
slide.
As we continue on to the
diner, will our Friday routine
be interrupted? Perhaps by
something greater than The
Plank Incident? Tune in next
week for more.
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