Article February 14, 2005 ISSUE

3 DEGREES OF SEPARATION

Jan Libengood

THERE WE WERE, MY MOTHER , my sister, and I, waiting patiently in line for our turn at the drive-up window at Standard Federal Bank shortly before Thanksgiving. The car ahead was finally leaving. Just as I was pulling into place, a car came from nowhere and stole our spot. Now we would have to wait even longer. What's more, the other driver was laughing at us, apparently feeling quite superior. Two words flashed across my mental screen: hatred, revenge.

But let's go back a couple of months. I'm at home, trying to print something in a hurry, and my printer won't print. In fact, it won't even turn on. This means having to crawl around on the floor, poking at power cables I can't reach without dismantling a lot of other cables. I spend several minutes trying, to no avail. No, it isn't the end of the world, but at that moment I'm fuming.