It was early on a Monday morning, and with it being the first day back to work after a relaxing weekend and having had to get up so early Scott wasn’t in the best mood. He was also in a rush to get to work on time; as he left the house he had noticed that a tyre on the work van had gone flat over the weekend, and he needed to pump it up on the way to work. If he didn’t he knew his boss would notice and shout at him for not checking it regularly or fixing it. He didn’t need that on a Monday morning. And if he was late his boss would probably shout at him too. You couldn’t win with him.
There was someone getting their tyres done when he got to the petrol station, time was tight but he reckoned he had a couple minutes to spare so he parked up and waited for the man to finish. A woman pulled up next to him but she didn’t get out of her car to get petrol. He figured she was waiting for the air pump too. As the other man was just about to finish at the pump she pulled in front of Scott and then darted into the space when the man left.
He couldn’t believe it. He was certain that she knew he was waiting to do his tyres. He got out the van and walked over to her car. He told her that she jumped the queue. Immediately dismissive and rude she told him that he wasn’t in the queue because he wasn’t waiting in the right place. He said that she wasn’t either and that she should let him go first. She ignored him and reached for the pump.
‘So you’re just going to jump in front of me like that?’ he asked, taken aback and annoyed. She shouted at him this time, repeating that he wasn’t in the queue, and in a clear attempt at intimidation she said that her husband was here to help her pump the tyres. He glanced over and spotted her husband just parking up, he looked big and burly and mean. Scott swore at her as he walked back to the van, spitting out the words with emphasis and venom. He didn’t need this on a Monday morning. She flipped; shouting and swearing back at him, giving him all sorts of vile abuse. All the people at the petrol station looked their way as she jabbed her hands about and made a scene. Across the forecourt her hulking husband heard and shouted over asking if everything was ok.
Scott was fuming now. No apology, no nothing. No graciousness, no kindness. Just plain rude. A pig of a woman. What wound him up the most was that he had done it to a woman himself recently, but when he realised that he had jumped the queue he reversed out the space and let her go first. Muttering to himself he walked to the back of his van. He’d had enough. People could be so selfish and nasty and disgusting. It made him sick. Fury and anger was building up inside him. Pent up rage at life and humanity in all its foul ugliness. He got the disc cutter out of the van and revved it up. His head had gone. He didn’t care who saw. He didn’t care about the CCTV cameras. Stalking over to her car he bent down and cut through her four tyres, black smoke and piercing noise filling the air. ‘Try pumping them up now.’ She was stunned into silence. ‘And if you try anything I’ll be letting the air out of your stomach too,’ he snarled with violence in his voice and menace in his eyes, pointing the disc cutter directly at her husband.