Price for Being Nasty

October 17, 2014
Yesterday afternoon, Robert and I went to a supermarket. Robert used self check out. He ran the bar codes through the machine while I was packing the groceries.
Because the package of ground meat which was placed in a plastic bag didn’t scan, I took the plastic bag off the package and scanned it. There was also a problem with an eggplant. We took a plastic bag to look for a code, but we didn’t find it. Luckily, we found a picture on the screen, so we were able to weigh the eggplant and got the price. After we paid for everything, Robert wanted to take the plastic bag off the package of the ground meat. I protested. Robert was upset, but stopped removing the bag from the package but instead tried to remove the plastic bag from the eggplant. I stopped him again. I was very upset and scolded him, sort off. Robert was upset too. He made grunting noises all the way through the store. I scolded him again, but that made him even more upset and the noises increased.
The ride home was, however uneventful and very quiet.
But when we brought the shopping home, Robert took off both bags – from the meat and from the eggplant and switched them. Only then I realized that the bags were different. The one from the meat section had red letters printed on it. The bag from the produce section was plain. Robert noticed the error I made at the cash register and tried to fix it. I didn’t let him! He was unable to explain to me what was the problem, and I didn’t give him any chance.
Even worse, I scolded him as if he were doing something completely irrational.
I wonder how did he feel? Unable to communicate, being scolded for trying to do the right thing. He certainly felt angry. But what was worse, he must also felt helpless, alienated, and lonely. Maybe even betrayed by me. That realization is the price I pay for being nasty.

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