I Hate People

Last Monday, I gave you all an amazing glimpse into the bat-shit crazy way my mind works. But you'd be selling me short if you were to believe that my irrationality is limited to just fears, you know. I have a lot of irrational hatreds, too.

I hate people who can't drive, which is to say: everybody except for me. And I may have given the erroneous impression whilst Drunkenly Gathering the other night that I only hate people who drive Escalades. That is not the case. I am an equal opportunity hater. I despise people in rusted out Camrys as much as I loathe people in shiny, new, Eddie Bauer Edition, Ford F150s. Really wanna piss me off? Show me a PT Cruiser; I'll go apoplectic almost immediately. Smart Cars make me foam at the mouth.

But honestly, it's not the vehicles themselves; it's the people driving them. I've been saying this for years, and I really mean it: I hate people. I hate ALL people. People suck. Whether they're driving or hosting The View, I abhor them. The problem I run into most often is that people are everywhere. You can't swing a stolen femur without smacking one of them upside the head -- nor should you try NOT to hit people upside the head. If you're going to go to all of the trouble of stealing a human leg bone and swing it, you should aim to win, I think. But don't try hitting me upside the head with a femur, because I will Kick. Your. Ass.

Really -- I'm not kidding. I'm a scrapper. You can't loathe other humans the way that I do without being able to back it up.

I can't really come up with a System of Quantification to determine if this segment of the population pisses me off more than that one, so just assume that I'm an equal opportunity Hater and I get enraged in equal measures by the following Top Four Categories of Society's Most Abhor-able:

People afflicted with Obviousity Syndrome

I really hate people who insist on telling me shit I already know and shit that anybody who is over the age of three and has at least half of a functioning brain also knows. These are the people who, in the middle of a full tilt boogie thunderstorm, will inform you, helpfully, that it's raining -- outside.

These folks, generally, are also afflicted with some odd syndrome which leads them to believe that they were the first people to experience everything and thus, they will -- as a gift to society -- share their super-secret knowledge with you, whether it's about child-rearing, enjoying a successful career or human nature. You know what? Save it. I've been alive for 40 years, and I wasn't living in a yurt on the tundra, Asshole. Your kid isn't doing anything my kids or anyone else's kids haven't done. I don't give two fucks about your job and I doubt you're going to have any special insight into why people suck as much as they do that I haven't come up with on my own. So, shut up and save me the aggravation of having to smile politely and the effort of having to appear as though I care about anything beyond setting you on fire.

People Who Ask Me Dumb Questions

There's this new thing that's been happening when I check out at the grocery store lately, wherein the cashier will ask me if I "found everything" I was looking for. If I hadn't, would I be checking out? And, for the sake of argument, let's say I didn't. Are we going to hold up a line while one of us runs to fetch it? Without the whole episode ending in angry tears and bail bondsmen? I frequently cruise the aisles of my local Price Chopper looking for $20 bills that people might have dropped and free samples. I rarely find either of those things, but I'm not about to get into that with Doug, the mainstreamed clerk who is as hard of hearing as he is tortoise-like (both in appearance and velocity.)

And don't ask me how I am -- ever. You don't really care, and you know it. Hell, I am me and I don't care how I am. I don't give a shit how you are, either.

People Who Are Clueless To Bar Etiquette

There is an honor among drunks, you know. You don't take someone's seat, you don't take someone's last cigarette and you DO NOT make an empty beer bottle "dance" in an effort to get a bartender's attention. It shocks and amazes me hw many people just don't get it -- that we alcoholics, like any other society, have a system of rules in place so that pandemonium doesn't break out. Being pulled into a bar fight also takes us away from our drinks, and none of us want that. That's not to say we won't jump in, mind you, but all other opportunities for fun have to be exhausted first.

You also shouldn't be walking "through" a pool game (Really -- how likely would you be to do that if it were a game of darts?! Wait. I think I already know the answer to that,) and you shouldn't be the jack ass who insists on rooting against the team that everyone else is rooting for. The jukebox is NOT your iPod, and trust me when I tell you that a bunch of drunks in Kansas are NOT going to react favorably to an hour and a half of Rap. Also, it would be really helpful if you adopt the whole "Good Child" Mentality when you come into my local gin joint: Speak only when spoken to; look with your eyes, not your hands; and keep your god damned fingers out of your nose -- nobody wants to see that.

Everybody Who Isn't Either Me, My Direct Descendent Or A Friend Of Mine

Which means the rest of you -- I hate you.

(Edited to Prove I Can Count)