Why I Hate People: Case Studies 112,874, 112,875, and 112,876

Three situations today reminded me why I hate people. As I stepped on the subway this afternoon, I was pleased to notice that a bench that easily seat four average sized people only had three on it. There was a white woman sitting at one end, a black man sitting at the other, and another white woman sitting in the middle. I assumed that she would move over since she was sitting literally in the middle of two spaces. Never assume anything. As I wedged myself into the bigger of the spaces, which happened to be between the women, she refused to move towards the black man. Fucking bitch. Ironically, there was just enough space on her other side that an averaged size guy squeezed in there, so I think she was a little crushed.

After I did an interview with a new potentialHaven volunteer, I needed to pick up my coat, which I left at the tailor’s two weeks ago so that I could get the sleeve altered. (Hey, as long as you’ve dropped serious money on a coat, you might as well throw in a little more so that it looks less sloppy. The arms of the coat were designed for some sort of giantess, so having them shortened a bit was a huge improvement.) I wandered up there and stopped into Bloomingdale’s to use the bathroom. (OK, fine. And also to try on more Nanette Lepore items so that I could be absolutely certain of my size when I bid on things on eBay.)

Of course, there was a line for the toilets, and as I waited, a dog poked its head out from under one of the stalls. Look, people, I know that bitches tend to shop at Bloomie’s, but I didn’t think that was literally the case. What the fuck is wrong with people? I know that you love your doggie and think of it as a member of the family, but last time I checked, dogs are not people. What on earth would make anyone think it is OK to bring a fucking dog into a department store?!?! Or any other commercial establishment for that matter. I was sure to shoot lighting bolts out of my eyes when the young rich woman emerged from the stall with the dog (kissing it, natch). At least it was on a leash. Sigh.

Finally, while trying on decadent frocks, some whore kicked open the door to my little fitting room for no apparent reason as she walked by, scaring the crap out of me. “Sorry,” she muttered nastily. I wanted to jump on her back and pull her perfectly highlighted coif out by the roots.

Civilization is a myth.