Too Angry over Milk

"[He] spoke to him that milk must be turned into water."
“[He] spoke to him that milk must be turned into water.”
A couple of months ago, Hui and I were helpers for a glass installation shop. The owner (let’s call him Jeremiah Billingsworth V for anonymity) seemed to like us, and I suspect that, never having employees that would give him intellectual stimuli, he enjoyed our mild eccentricity.

Angry over a Secretary

Hui and I had been practicing Zhuangzi’s philosophy, and we wanted to see if its teachings could pacify the often tempered Jeremiah Billingsworth. And a chance arose as he came to me disgruntled, spitting out insults and tobacco because of the shop’s secretary never having recorded the phone number of a client.

Sunken Costs

After a cooldown from that daily exercise, he asked for my thoughts. I spoke to him that milk must be turn into water–that would be a little odd. I actually asked why he was so angry over a sunken scenario (over spilled milk)? I didn’t care to explain that one is better off conforming with events and that his anger causes his pain because why would he want to hear that from me?

He replied that this is a business and that her mistakes are not fit for it. Perhaps he was more mad at the person than the loss, but in the end, he seemed to have calmed down, yet I am still curious to ask another in an ire a similar question and still more curious to ask myself in unfortunate circumstances.

Let me ask what you think about all this, and let me encourage you to follow Tao Practiced for well written anecdotes, explications, and satires.

Published by

Le Ho

I am currently a law student at the University of North Carolina Law School. As an undergraduate, I boxed for Carolina and earned its first men's national championship title.

3 thoughts on “Too Angry over Milk”

  1. According to King Lear, who has to go mad to realise it, nobody is to blame.

    And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office.

    Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand.

    Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back.

    Thou hotly lust’st to use her in that kind

    For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.

    Through tattered clothes great vices do appear;

    Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,

    And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks.

    Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw does pierce it.

    None does offend—none, I say, none. I’ll able ’em.

    Take that of me, my friend, who have the power

    To seal th’ accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes,

    And like a scurvy politician seem

    To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now,

    Pull off my boots. Harder, harder. So.

    And you saw how the beggar ran from the mutt? That’s authority! Even a dog is obeyed sometimes. You stupid cop, stop your violence! Why are you whipping that whore? You should be whipping yourself, since you lust after her and yearn to do the same thing for which you’re punishing her. One criminal punishes another. Poor men’s sins are much more noticeable than rich men’s. Cover up a crime with gold and the arm of justice can’t touch it. But dress the crime in rags and it’s caught easily. Everyone sins. You can’t blame anyone for it anyone, I say. I’ll vouch for that. Believe me, my friend, since I have the power to stop the prosecutors. Get yourself some glass eyes, and pretend to see things you can’t, like a crooked politician. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots. Harder, harder. Like that.

    Please excuse the long quote. With the internet, it’s easy and tempting to cut & paste!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. From boyhood, They may make adulthood. But then maybe that would bring up the question of the legitimacy of blame imparted onto that adult but not onto children, and then justification, and then free will… Thanks for visiting by the way.

      Liked by 1 person

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