Y'ALL,

I just got cussed out in the parking lot by a Black woman. it was outside the Giant. She was mad because I didn't move my car out of her way fast enough but didn't realize I had on my blinker because I was waiting for a specific parking space.

Tell me, have you ever been cussed out by a Black woman in public? Because I AM a Black woman and being cussed out by another Black woman still feels mildly traumatic and humbling,

Because this is not a quiet incident. It ain't a discreet, mind-your-business situation. Being cussed out by a Black woman is surround sound. Fucking Dolby Digital. The acoustics alone will make your stomach drop and send you back to the 1980s.

It starts out loud and somehow keeps getting LOUDER, echoing off car doors and windshields. Necks snap. Windows roll down. Strangers suddenly know your full government name which now is "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" And she tells everybody about at least two flaws you weren’t aware of.

The air gets thick.

The pigeons stop that “cooooooo-ruh” sound.

Somewhere a car alarm feels emotionally unsafe. And the clarity. The diction. Not a single word wasted. Every syllable lands with purpose, like it was dragged through batter and fried.

Nothing in my life prepared me for that moment. Not years of therapy. Not a prep school education. Not a damn PhD. Not mindfulness meditation. Not breath work. Not journaling. Not ginger and turmeric shots. Daily affirmations. Black Jesus. Nothing, Y'all.

When she finished rolling her neck, yelling until she almost went hoarse, eyes bulging, veins doing pulsing out her forehead and neck, she froze in front of her cart daring me to "do somethin', BITCH!"

Everybody else froze too. Black folks. White folks. The Asian lady who runs the dry cleaners. The parking lot leaned in. Time slowed. Even the shopping carts held their breath.

But I live a "soft life."

Plus, I cannot yell to save my life. My spirit does not project. And I absolutely do not fight women whose faces look like they’ve already pre-gamed the chaos, whose weaves extend past the lettering on that back of their hot pink sweatpants, and who are yelling THAT LOUD in public because they already know how the story ends.

I like my peace intact, my blood pressure low, every last one of my locs firmly attached to my scalp, and my skin free of scratches, claw marks, and memories I’d have to unpack in therapy for the next five years.

So instead of matching her, I grinned and said the first truly unhinged thing my nervous system could muster up: “I just saved a ton of money by switching to GEICO.”

And listen. I don’t know if it was the absurdity, the audacity, or the insurance reference at that emotional altitude, but it broke the moment. I heard other folks chuckling. She looked confused and deeply annoyed but silent now. Because nothing disarms rage faster than realizing the person in front of you has absolutely no idea how to be loud on purpose.

She briskly walked away still grumbling. I told her to BREATHE, as I went on my way chuckling about how I managed to be humbled, entertained, and personally rearranged in under three minutes, before noon, on the second day of January.