prednisone rage

I have been taking prednisone for acute gout attacks for many years now, and the family is well equated with the effects it has on my mood.  They will ask, "Dad are you on prednisone?".   "Yes, damnit but do what I am telling you to do!"  The story in our family that has reached the level of myth is a time some years ago heading to the LaGuardia airport and being stuck in a long toll line at the highway exit.  A driver of a luxury auto was engaged in the usual game of edging up and trying to jump the line.  I was not going to have it.  You know it is the prednisone working in your brain and you know you are behaving badly, but it is like watching a film of yourself-- there is absolutely no way you can control your emotions.  I yell through the window.  I shake my fist.  I keep inching forward, every inch matching his move until our cars fenders are almost touching.  No!  You are not getting in front of me!  I roll down the window, threaten the life of him and his family.  I reach way out and pound on his fender with my fist. He backs off.  I creep up.  He slides in behind me.  Slowly, my heart rate comes back to normal.  "Dad, are you on prednisone?"

So today I went out to the suburban Mall in Jacksonville to the Apple store for a replacement battery for my macbook pro.  To ensure I got the right battery and so I could recycle it, I brought the old battery.  The apple store was packed with holiday shoppers, all trying products under the careful supervision of the apple "technicians".  I walked up to an available employee, waving the battery and said I needed a replacement.  "What is that?" she asked blankly.  "A MacBook Pro 5 battery and I need a replacement." "Would you like to make an appointment with one of our technicians?" was the polite reply.  We used to call them clerks.  And you didn't used to need an appointment.  Like the janitor in the Tom Hanks move The Terminal, who whenever approached asked "Do you have an appointment?".  The blood surged, my heart started pounding.  "It's just a battery and I need a new one!"  Somehow, this time I managed to hold on.  I turned away to a different clerk.  I asked again.  He pulled the new battery off of the shelf behind him.

Exiting the store, I took deep breaths until I calmed down.  Of course, there was still the xmas music. Where is Bad Santa?