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I've come a long way, I think, in the battle to just 'chill out.' A few years ago, everything would stress me out. I would get upset at traffic, lines in the super market, old people out by themselves, with no one to watch them. (I still feel very strongly about this, and hope I never become an doddering old fool.) But lately, I've learned to relax, and take life as it comes at me.
I'm proud of my progress. Part of it, I believe, has been taking the time to write down my observations about every day life, then retelling it here. I'm a cynic, through and through, but a much, much more mellow cynic.
But every now and again, I relapse back into old habits. I have found, though, that I handle the situation much, much differently. If, for example, I find myself angered at the driver of a SUV large enough that, if painted yellow, could transport an entire "Special Class" to school and back, who didn't see the light turn yellow, then red, because she was talking on her bluetooth wireless headset, and nearly ran into me, taking the turn at the appropriate time; I don't shout like I used to. In fact, I've found that over shouting, I prefer a much simpler method of conveying my dissatisfaction with the other's driving skills: the exaggerated hand gestures while mouthing the phrase "... the fuck are you doing?"
That usually works, but to ensure that the message is sent, I then stop my vehicle (when safe) and wait, staring down the poor driver, while I make sure that they understand that they made a mistake, and it inconvenienced me. It's truly fun.

The only other place I really feel any stress at all is in line at the super market or Wal-Mart. As much as I try to avoid the Peoples Republic of Walton, I will inevitably find myself in one of their mega-stores at least once a month. It's nothing I'm proud of, in fact, I am somewhat ashamed to admit it. But the fact is, if you need to buy a gallon of milk, six pair of black athletic socks, a card for your Grammy's birthday, a fish, a chainsaw and a box of condoms at 4:00 am, then there's only one place that can help you: Wal-Mart.
and the thing that I hate the most about the Evil Empire is their complete and total lack of sufficient staffing. 48 check out lanes, 3500 customers, three cashiers. You can get a pedicure, do your taxes, take an eye exam, then purchase glasses, have your picture taken, or eat a foot-long Meatball Marinara on Italian Herb and Cheese Bread, toasted with provolone and extra parmesan, all under one roof. But if you came to purchase twenty items or less and leave the store in a timely fashion, well, my friend, you have come to the wrong place.
And this is where the weird, passive/aggressive behavior comes out. I count the items of the people in front of me in the Express Lane. I watch as every single item comes out of the cart. If I'm fast enough, I'll get them all counted before they are unloaded from the cart or basket. I count every beep, as it ticks off the count of the items passing through the Express Lane.
As Wanda the 87 year old cashier recollects some must-tell anecdote about each item purchased, I put a death grip on my one item, and silently count the number of items each shopper is purchasing, knowing full well that I would never do anything if a shopper should reach 21 items.
I guess it just helps me to pass the time.