Paying a heavy troll

I’m traveling for a wedding, making my way across town when an older woman calls out to me from a nearby bench. After I stop, she asks me if I know where a particular bus picks people up.

“Sorry, I don’t,” I reply, “I’m not from here.”

Starting to turn away, I expect either a half-hearted thanks from her, or even just silence, which would also be fine. After all, we don’t need to become friends.

“Oh that is such a lame answer,” she spits instead. Whaa? “Why do people always say that? I can tell you where a million things are in, I don’t know, Sydney – and I’m not from there!”

Flabbergasted, I stare at her for a moment before anger sets in. “No you can’t, you can’t at all!” I stammer, like I’m the tow-headed kid from The Yearling or something.

Needless to say, we do not become friends.

As I continue to my hotel (which I reach all by myself without accosting people for transit directions), I literally stop in my tracks more than once, almost turning around.

“Name one thing in Sydney that isn’t the Opera House!” I say in my mind. Victory. But it isn’t enough.

“In fact, tell me what street the Opera House is on!”

But wait, is the Opera House even on a street? And what if she responds with something like “Kangaroo Lane?” How can I know whether she’s making it up or not? Am I allowed to check my phone, or will that make me look like some kind of fool?

Lady on the Bench, you haunt my dreams. It feels like Seinfeld’s “jerk store” episode (about comebacks) or the xkcd comic where a partner can’t come to bed because “someone is wrong on the Internet.”

That’s it! The lady on the bench is an IRL troll.

But then it occurs to me: many other people get ruder comments than this (and much worse than that) on the street – and online – every single day. I’m lucky. For me, Lady on the Bench is an isolated incident, somewhere on the west coast, never to be seen again.

But that driver in the Beaches who called me a moron because I didn’t realize he hadn’t completed his 8-point turn? He’s local. I can probably take a day off and look around for him.

“Sorry,” I’ll say, “didn’t realize you hadn’t completed your 8-point turn.”

Burn.