I can be as much an ass-hole as you!

A few months ago I asked a trainer at the Canandaigua YMCA if he could suggest anything for an old geezer (me) trying to stay in shape.
He stiffed me.
“I’m with a client,” he snapped.
“Sorry I asked,” I thought, so I continued working out myself.
I later asked good old Michelle, another YMCA training-coach, who supervises the Exercise-Gym in mornings.
I know Michelle. I used to call her “Amazon-Lady” because she’s muscle-bound and keeps to herself. She seemed kind of sullen.
I don’t call her “Amazon-Lady” any more. She’s really nice.
She couldn’t suggest anything, so I continued doing what I’ve been doing, which to her was good.
About a week ago I went into the stretching-area of the Exercise-Gym to do my stretches.
That trainer-guy was in there with a client, and had large rubber-band training-aids with him. They were about eight feet long.
I looked around, and there was no place to put my stretching mat.
I grabbed the training-aids to move them.
“You can’t have that!” the trainer snapped. “Only YMCA trainers can touch them.”
I backed off, circled around, and got a stretching mat.
“Okay, where do I put this?” I shouted at the trainer.
“Sorry dude,” I thought to myself. “I drove city bus so have plenty of experience with ass-holes. I can be as much an ass-hole as you!”
“Put it anywhere you want,” he said, cowed.
“I was gonna put it there,” I snapped, pointing at the training-aids.
He moved the training-aids.
“Yeah, guess what, dude,” I thought. “Ya stiffed me again. Ya got my Irish up.”
Since my wife died, I’ve become more tolerant of people.
They mean well, but they put their foot in their mouth.
I think the dude recognized he had crossed me up, but he wouldn’t apologize.
I considered saying something to him, but didn’t.
Why bother, when all I may encounter is him being more of an ass-hole?
After all, he got my Irish up.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.)
• RE: “old geezer.....” —I’m 69.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.