2 of My Arch-Nemeses


The Peninsula Pooper

Two truisms:

  1. Everybody reads on the toilet; hell, that’s the only way I get through my issue of Entertainment Weekly in time for the next to take its place on the tank lid.
  2. Nobody likes to poop on a toilet that’s not their own. (Or do they?)

It’s always bothersome when you’re in a can’t-wait-gotta-go-now sort of situation at the gym first thing in the morning and both stalls are occupied by old twerps. Who are reading the newspaper. And who ignore my “what is this, a fucking library?” with a muffled cough and rustling of the newspapers. Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, Butt-Wipe (or, should I call you “Not-Butt-Wipe”?), with seven sections of The Toronto Star spread out on the ground in front of you. And don’t think I’m anything but disgusted that you leave the goddamned newspaper spread out on the wet floor when you exit a full 15 minutes later. Who the hell do you think is gonna pick it all up?

And don’t think I don’t know exactly who you are, wearing your “The Peninsula Spa” flip-flops while shaving at the sink. You’ve been made, jerkwad.

Sir Chivalrous

How very gentlemanly of you, holding and holding and holding the elevator door for every fucking person who enters the lobby of our office building, craning your neck out the door “just to check”, despite the fact that there are five elevators servicing our floors. I know, I know, there just might be a pretty young thing who absolutely can’t wait for the next elevator, or who hasn’t figured out how to press the “^” button, or who can’t figure out which button to press once she’s inside the elevator and needs you to do it for her after asking her “which floor?”, or who needs you to hold the door’s safety striker open while she exits the elevator even though the door already takes forfuckingever to close, or who needs you to block off half the fucking doorway to magnanimously guide her out of the elevator with a sweeping flourish of your manly arm, or who needs you to treat her like a fucking idiot by asking whether she’s sure that’s her floor even though she just fucking told you it was, or who would totally be impressed with the self-satisfied way you rock back and forth in your sandals ‘n’ socks after that overchivalrous display.

Don’t think we can’t see your excitement in those really stylish, pleated, khaki Dockers, either, douchebag, as you get off on the 10th floor.

3 Responses to “2 of My Arch-Nemeses”

  1. 1 J

    There are some good medications available these days. Maybe you should talk to your doctor.

  2. 2 jaime

    I agree with J…every single thing I’ve read by you is so angry and bitter, maybe you should get some professional help for your anger issues. What do you think?

    Or were you going for bitter-funny and I just keep missing the point?

  3. 3 John A

    and everyone thinks I’m superficial when I say something like pleated khakis say a lot about someone’s possible lack of character. NOW someone understands me.

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