hadn’t yelled, but I’d been rude to a guy for a simple mistake. I needed to apologize to him. This stranger wasn’t my problem. My problems were the stacks of bills and the confused kids and the uncertainty. My wife might die. I felt lonely and powerless. I didn’t mean to get upset—but here, finally, was a problem I could fix. I could get my name on the dang list. I could get something to go my way. For a few seconds, I had the relief of a scapegoat, someone I could blame.
