Coded Mood

I decided recently to start referring to where I live as Bajor. It's not for any one reason. Partly, I give up on folks confusing it with similar-sounding places, nearby places and places I have lived previously. I also need to be able to express frustration without people feeling personally attacked, or needing to explain away my feelings as invalid, "because you just need to understand the culture." 

Sigh, I don't have time to explain how it's one thing to understand that some people traditionally greet each other by bopping with pain sticks, but it's still laborious to translate daily pain-bopping from war crime to friendliness, and my primary instinct is to feel bad--just kidding, of course I have time to rehash it. It's all I ever think about.

So, it's Bajor here. It's not at all an accurate metaphor, but that's not the point. The point is first, my amusement, to keep from crying. Second, to take away instant, "yeah, but" and, "that's because" that lead to, "maybe you can just."

The people speak Bajoran. I can read Bajoran. I can also read Cardassian. I can also read Ferengi. Sometimes I change the spelling for fun, or so people who don't want to know my point of view can discredit my entire life experience by commenting about an error. 

I'm going to call all the food hasperat, even if it's soup. The soupy stuff is hasperoup. The Salady stuff is hasperad. The steaky stuff is haspereat. The noodly stuff is hasperoot. The fruit is hasperuit, no matter how much more logical it would be to just say the fruit. This isn't Vulcan. This is Bajor. 

I just thought of it, and it's already making me feel better. I was so frustrated, and I spent about 10 minutes outside today. I took my rubbish bag for a walk down the turbolift. It's a walking turbolift. It's really stairs, but really it's turbolairs. 

There was a family of Bajorans walking very slowly up the turbolairs. Normally, Bajos stare at me constantly. I am rather tall and Klingy-looking, but also kind of Ferengi-y-looking. I walk funny and have serious anxiety. That makes people notice me, and although most people take offense when I look at them, it's agreed by most that it's alright to stare at me. 

But these three little Bajos were not paying any attention to me or to where they were going.

They were following the widespread Bajo tradition of walking slowly in the middle of thoroughfares while taking up all available space. I couldn't pass by them or get their attention, and inevitably, they all walked their slow faces right into my rubbish bag. I probably could have shouted or at least raised my rubbish out of the way, in which case they could have slowly walked their faces into my crotch instead, while the bag would have torn and spilled all over my sad face. I wouldn't be into any of that. 

They got understandably angry, because of all the reasons it's always my fault, and I was frustrated that there was nothing I could do to stop it. If the situation were reversed, they would be shoving garbage in my face and giggling that I didn’t know I should get out of the way.Or rather, I would be aware of their approach, and squeeze to the side of the turbolairs, to which they would respond by giggling and pressing themselves and their garbage as far into my space as possible, and it would still be agreed by all to be my fault because I should know not to let them dominate me like that.