They got it wrong, not evil

The driver cuts the line at the loading dock. The new hire breaks the thing you told them twice not to touch. A nurse on the next shift leaves the cart a mess again. The fast verdict writes itself: they're careless, they're lazy, they don't respect you. And once someone's an enemy, every dealing with them turns into combat.

Yesterday you forecast who you'd meet. Today, change what you see when you meet them. Marcus, working among people who failed him daily, refused the enemy frame: "It is peculiar to man to love even those who do wrong" (Meditations 7.22, Long). His reason was plain — they go wrong "through ignorance and unintentionally," they're kin to you, and soon enough you'll both be gone. Almost nobody wakes up planning to ruin your morning. They're tired, untrained, distracted, scared, or just don't see what you see.

That doesn't make the mess disappear. You still re-stack the line, re-teach the new hire, flag the cart. But you do it as someone correcting a kinsman's mistake, not someone repelling an attacker. The work is the same. The poison is gone.