The power of words

Nicest thing Brett said to me last week: 'You're a very nice girl and will one day make a very nice young man very happy.'

I was flattered. But my response was: 'Yeah, most certainly. But that person will definitely not be you.'

Brett: 'Well of course.'

Meanest thing I said to Brett this week: 'You know. You have a lot of dandruff for a guy with not a lot of hair.' I know. Ouch.

Brett: 'I can't believe you said that. You cheeky thing! I'm going to the back room to throw a tantrum and will not talk to you.' So there. He was kidding of course.

But isn't it amazing how words can pierce or heal one? It can be hurtful but yet so soothing at times. This morning was rather rough. Maybe suffering from Monday blues. Sent down 5 Samsonite luggages to Dispatch. Had to look for 5 boxes to place them in. Got a mild told-off by Dispatch Steve. Apparently I had to explain precisely that I was sending 5 luggages instead of the one I brought down to show him earlier on. Darn it. Ain't it the same?

To make matters worse, got a yelling from Bjarna. He was being kind when he offered me two of his boxes. Then when I asked him where he placed it, he was, 'Underneath the mezz! On the ground floor! Underneath the mezz! Right there!' Of course, I got pretty pissed off, 'Okay, okay! You don't have to raise your voice at me! You're really impossible. You're mean. I'm not talking to you.' And I stomped off, muttering my thanks. He laughed.

Outcome:
A.M: shitty
P.M: better