When having an argument, I’d like to pride myself on being the one to keep a cool head, I’d like to retain the moral high ground no matter how passionate the disagreement. At least I’d like to. Unfortunately, and to my sometime shame, this is not always possible. An incident this weekend highlighted the disparity between my aspirations and the actuality of my character.

Driving around what must be the most badly-designed car park on the planet at a local shopping centre, I was following the car in front at a discrete distance. Spotting a space to rest his vehicle, the driver began to reverse into it. As he neglected to look behind before backing up, I thought it advisable to give a toot on my own car’s horn, primarily to ensure his awareness of my presence, thus averting any potential prang, but admittedly with the secondary intention of registering my mild irritation.

At the very worst, I expected the customary scowl of annoyance one gets from another driver when attention is drawn to a mistake; at best, a quick raise of the hand combined with a nod or sheepish smile. What I did not expect in the slightest was the reaction of his passenger.

The hateful glare directed towards me showed through even the thick layer of makeup which had been inexpertly trowelled onto her grim phizog. Struggling to open the car door proved an even more complex task than applying her slap; obviously a device too sophisticated to operate while travelling at such a high speed as…zero mph. Still, this intricate operation was eventually mastered and, with embarrassment perhaps augmenting her fury, she leapt from the vehicle with a vehemence which genuinely took me by surprise.

She approached my window, which for some reason I did not wind down; instead I opened the door a tad to facilitate our conversation, knowing some kind of confrontation was inevitable, yet hoping I could defuse it with a few softly-spoken words. She wedged herself into the gap, precluding any attempt I could then hope to make at closing it.

“What did yer beep fo’?!”

Her sun-dried cosmetic mask cracked under the strain of merely talking. I was close enough to see the chasms opening as the verisimilitude of her face was slowly revealed. Her arm flapped up as she spoke, as if Afflicted in some way.

I explained best I could the intent behind my tooting, that her boyfriend/husband had not looked before initiating his parking manoeuvre. Her response took my astonishment to even dizzier heights. I regret that I cannot now remember her exact words, though I believe they went something like this:

“What did yer think yer were doin’? Drivin’ rahnd that corner like an idiot, you nearly crashed inter us, yer nearly went inter backer us, yer maniac!”

I fumbled out a protest, attempted once more to put across the motivation behind my beeping, adding in rebuttal the fact that I had been stationary when the vehicle she was in had started to reverse. Tossing her own falsehood back only served to drive her into a more frenzied state. She leaned in closer. I could almost taste the bile.

“Nahhhhhhhhh yer weren’t, yer came racin’ up there behind us, drove up like an idiot, nearly went inter our back end! Yer lunatic!”

The mere chronicling of her words in this fashion does not do justice to the odium they came laced with, as though she’d stumbled upon my trespassing in her house in the middle of the night, defecating into the fishbowl.

I admit, I was stunned, left momentarily speechless by the blatant lie. Embarrassed too, profoundly so, at this public rebuke. I imagined what was going through the minds of the ever-increasing gaggle of onlookers. That I, the one in the powerful Volkswagen, the one under the age of thirty, the man…that I was the one in the wrong and everything this vile woman was saying about me was completely true.

Something snapped inside me. A check, an inhibition was bypassed. The imagined whispers of the gawping spectators, my incredulity at this woman’s words, my frustrating inability to formulate an eloquent rebuttal and even my prejudices about her appearance all factored into my response:

“No I didn't, I was immobile, YOU STUPID WHORE.”

Whoops.

Time did not stop, unfortunately. She didn’t stagger back as if struck. A momentary silence in which to reflect and regret did not occur. She instead wedged herself even more securely into the open door and called to her partner, who had by now successfully parked his vehicle.

“Did you hear that? He called me a whore. How dare you call me a whore?”

At least she didn’t dispute the ‘stupid’ part. Though that was scant comfort, as moral high ground thoroughly relinquished, I sighed inwardly and decided the best thing to do now was to end this confrontation with as much dignity as I could muster.

Yet I couldn’t quite bring myself to be civil to my deceitful antagonist, instead stammering out an apology to her approaching boyfriend. To his credit, he took it with good grace, not exacerbating matters by continuing the dispute. He merely took his partner gently by the arm and convinced her to leave with as honeyed words as I now wish I had employed.

Still, the glum resignation on his face said it all as he led her away: this was not an irregular occurrence.

For me, luckily, it is. Those who know me also know my argumentative nature, but I hope are aware that I do not insult without thought, that my invective is usually well-formed and constructive. On this one occasion I failed to hold in check my baser instincts. I can only trust it does not presage a more deep-seated change within and that the next time I’m confronted by such an obviously loathsome person I do not react in the same manner.

That even days after the fact I still feel the same shame which washed over me the instant those words escaped my mouth is, I hope, a good sign.