Sunday night at South Station in Boston on my way to catch a bus back to New York, I had a scary encounter with aggression. My friend Brett and I booked tickets on Bolt Bus early in the week. Bolt is really cheap and has power outlets and an internet connection that is spotty, but still, it’s there. I was running late getting to the station so I called and asked Brett to get in line for us and I would meet him there. When I got there Brett was just shy of the end of the line with a couple of people behind him. I joined him on line and we chatted it up while we waited for the bus that was running late. Little did I know that the irate post-college age frat boy standing behind us would perceive this as cutting in line, and furthermore, take it as a personal affront.

Just as the bus began to board and the line started to move, the man tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. The man was squarely built, wore a North Face jacket and jeans and gripped a Blackberry. He said, “Excuse me, are you a passenger on this bus?” Indeed, I was. “So you think it’s okay to fucking cut me in line?”

Whoa. I went into planning mode. How to deal with this guy? Ignore him completely? Tell him off? I chose neither. I attempted compassion. In this instance, I believed compassion meant being calm and rational with him and not showing any signs of anger. I could recognize severe suffering of attachment when I saw it. Considering we were getting on a bus where not one seat was any different or better than any other, why the hell was this guy so upset about this? It was obvious Brett and I were traveling together, and this guy was traveling alone. Forget about the total lack of understanding of the fact that I wasn’t technically cutting in line…

“This is my friend,” I gestured to Brett. “We bought our tickets together and are traveling together. I was running late and he was kind enough to save my spot for me.”

“I don’t fucking care, you fucking cut me in line.”

Brett was even more shocked than I was. “Are you serious, man?” Brett asked.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fucking serious. Yeah. That’s right. No one fucking cuts me in line. Who do you think you are?”

Okay, this guy needs to know his behavior is ridiculous, but I need to say it in a nice way: “There’s no reason for you to be cursing at me, sir.” (I decided to put in the “sir” to make him believe that I respected him). I continued, “If you had said something to me in a calm, civil way, I would have moved to accommodate you. But your tone and your cursing is completely unnecessary.” It was the truth. I could see how Brett saving my place was a gray area in the whole cutting-people-in-line arena, so I understand how someone who really values their place in line would be annoyed (though I think the kind of person who doesn’t feel personally connected to their place in line wouldn’t say anything at all). Had he treated me as human, I would have moved to the back of the line. Brett would have saved me a seat next to him anyway. But because he acted in such an aggressive way towards me, there was no way I was going to let him think it’s okay to try to intimidate young women, (which I’m sure played a part in his cursing at me so freely). This was not going to happen. Probably he’s used to the people he yells at giving him what he wants. Not today.

Of course my attempt at reasoning didn’t take. The man continued to curse at us anyway. Brett said in naïve, cartoonish, adorable way, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” (I almost chuckled).

To which the man responded, “I’ll fucking pick on anyone I fucking want who cuts me in line.” Part of being compassionate is knowing when you’re not going to reach someone. At this point the line was moving so I motioned to Brett to stop engaging this guy and hurry the hell up and get on the bus with me. I knew it was risky to try to reason with someone who was so obviously irrational. And honestly, his size and manner did intimidate me. I’m a small person, physically, and he was big and hot-headed, and people can do crazy things. Unfortunately he did succeed in scaring me and I was rather shaken up for the first few minutes of the bus ride, but at least his tantrum didn’t get him what he wanted, and I felt that I had done my best given the circumstances. Two years ago I probably would have started crying and ran to the back of the line. I’ve progressed.

Still, do I wonder. Maybe the guy had a terrible day. Maybe he just lost his job, or his girlfriend. Maybe someone murdered his mother after cutting him in line when he was a kid. Maybe he was drunk. Who knows? But I hope his life gets better, because something must be terribly off for him to get that angry over someone getting on the bus a few seconds before him.

Oh, man. Just to be honest with myself here…that’s all well and good, but despite my attempts to be compassionate, I still think that guy was a total asshole that could use a good kick in the pants, regardless of how aggressive and uncompassionate that technically is. But it’s not aggression if I merely think about how much fun that would have been, right?