This column really makes me angry!

Actually, it is sort of based on a true story, or at least as much as anything I write is.  I have been trying to volunteer for various
studies for years, not just for the money, but because I thought they'd make for great columns.  However, I always get turned down for some lame reason or another, like, I'm the wrong age, I don't have a uterus, etc. 

I feel as though I came really close on this one, though!

--Bruce

Recently I was reviewing my annual household budget and realized that I have a cash shortfall of approximately two trillion dollars.  (It might be less, but so what?  Anything over a hundred bucks and I'm doomed anyway.)

So I was excited when a friend of mine clued me in on an easy way to make some fast money.  A local hospital was conducting a study in the "biology of anger," and would pay $700 for volunteers to participate.

"The only thing is," I cautioned, "I don't really get mad that often. When I was a child, I learned that in a fistfight, anger can impede a person's ability to flee."

"Well, don't tell them that," my friend advised.

He gave me the phone number and I called in, mentally calculating what I could do with $700.  Would it be smarter to use the money to pay down my credit card debt, or to buy a new television?  Well, that one was easy:  Paying down debt would be really boring.

"Sorry to make you wait so long on hold," a woman finally answered.

"That's okay," I assured her cheerfully.

"Gosh, most people are usually pretty angry that they had to wait," she responded.

"Oh!" I gulped.  "Well, it's okay because...because I was just yelling at, at the cat!  Furiously yelling!"

"You have a cat?"

"Right, well, I call it a cat, but it's really a badger, a big mean badger.  I use it to hunt other people's pets, like, their rabbits. 
Rabbits really make me angry!"

"I see," she replied.  "Well, I just need to ask you a few questions to see if you'd fit in our study group."

"There's a test?  I hate tests!" I raged.

"First question," she continued smoothly.  "When you're angry, do you take it out on inanimate objects?"

"Yes!" I snarled.

"Like what?"

I looked around my living room for something to tell her.  "Um, my dog has a squeaky toy, and when I get mad, I squeeze the thing and it squeals!"

"Dog toy," she muttered, writing it down.

"It's a very unpleasant sound," I told her.

"I'm sure it is.  Next question, are you impatient..."

"Yes!  I wish you'd hurry!" I snapped.

"That's not all."

"I also interrupt a lot, is that one of the questions?"

"No, it's not."

"Oh.  Sorry," I apologized.

"Are you impatient when standing in line, and, if so, how do you react?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, it makes me furious!  I...angrily...furiously, um, you know, get really mad."

"Do you do anything, or just get angry?" she asked.

"Oh, well, yeah, I mean if there were some squeaky toys for sale, I might grab one and really give it a workout."

"Let's say it is a grocery store and there are no dog toys," she suggested.

"Well then I'd probably start squeezing vegetables or something," I speculated.  "And maybe make my own squeaky noises.  You know, like grab a zucchini and go 'eeek, eeek!' "

"Grab a zucchini," she said to herself, writing.

"Or maybe one of the more angry vegetables, like lettuce."

There was a long pause.  "Okay, next question," she finally said, "how often do you get into fist fights?"

"Oh, all the time.  Constantly," I assured her.

"With whom?"

"Oh, well, you know.  SWAT team members, Navy SEALs, people like that."

"And have you ever been incarcerated for public brawling or a similar charge?"

"Of course!  I practically spend every night in jail.  And while I'm in there, I usually beat up the prisoners.  Also I yell at the
jailers.  And I refuse to eat any lettuce!"

"I see.  Well sir, I appreciate you calling in, but I don't think you fit the profile of the kind of person we're looking for.  Or of anybody, frankly."

"But, I really need the money.  I have debts to pay and my TV is more than two years old!"  I grabbed the squeaky toy and frantically gave it a few squeezes so she'd know how worked up I was getting.

"I am sorry, sir," she replied primly. 

She hung up and I stared at the phone in disbelief.

She really made me mad!

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W. Bruce Cameron is the author of "Eight Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter" and "How to Remodel a Man."