Everyone Is An Asshole

So everyone's been sort of a jerk lately. Not you, reading this, of course. You've been terrific, I'm sure. You're probably one of my friends, and my friends are wonderful. People have just not been super wonderful to them lately. It seems like hearts are breaking all around me. And I'm sensitive to that shit now.

It's always the surprise that's the worst part. The rug pulled out from under you, that patch of black ice on the sidewalk. The sneakiest kind of disappointment: I just didn't expect this. Everything seemed so great. They seemed so great! That insidious little betrayal: I trusted you. I let you in. I told my friends about you. And like I said, I know all these wonderful people, so they're mad, of course, but they also turn the anger in: How could I not have known? How could I let myself get tricked again? Everything seemed so great. 

That is not just about love. It happens with friends, it happens at work. It happens everywhere. The thing that made you the happiest takes down its own curtain and leaves you with nothing. Or worse, more common: it takes part of you with it. And it seems impossible, that you could have been so wrong, you're sharper than that, you're smarter than that. But it's still ever-present, that threat: you're in danger of being let down every time you trust something, from the very moment you let it in. And it happens for one, simple, universal reason:

Everyone is an asshole. Sometimes.

It's true. And it's the only comfort I've been able to give anyone recently, when the people and things that they've trusted have let them down, again, for unbelievable, stupid, tiny, mind-blowingly painful reasons: everyone is an asshole, sometimes. Even the best people who've ever lived, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jr., your angelic little Nana: they were all assholes, sometimes. Even the person who has shown you the greatest kindness in your life, whom you are forever grateful for and to: they're an asshole, too. Or they were. Sometimes.

We're humans. We make a mess of absolutely everything we do. Even the most revered and accoladed among us, even the kindest and the most charitable. We feel so deeply. We want so many things. We act impulsively, jumping first and apologizing later. We cover things up. We are imperfect, so we miss a spot. We are tortured, so we let ourselves get caught. We hurt each other and run away. We stay close enough to see just how bad it really was. Sometimes we do this because we know we'll be forgiven. Sometimes that's the meanest part of all.

Of course I'm guilty, too. Sometimes I think I'm the guiltiest. I've been selfish. I've been petty. I've been cruel. I've lied, I've cheated, I've stolen. I've taken more than I needed. I've been reckless, I've been short-tempered. I've expected other people to clean up my messes. I've been manipulative, I've been immature. I've been careless with other people's hearts. I've been destructive with my own. I am an asshole. Sometimes.

And you, wonderful person, darling friend who has undoubtedly acted beautifully and selflessly, who has been there for someone when no one else was, who has helped loved ones through tragedies large and small - you are an asshole, too. Sometimes.

But we're also great. More than sometimes. That goes for me and it goes for you, too. Kind and caring and sympathetic, helpful when you don't have to be, accepting when you'd like to disagree, patient when you're frustrated, open when it would be so much easier to close. True, it's because of these things, these beautiful capabilities, that we make ourselves vulnerable to the assholes, potential victims to the concealed, predatory worst parts of everyone. And because of that - because you know that anyone, at any time, can kick a hole through your heart - when you know that, and choose to extend your hand anyway, it lifts us all up, a little. Makes us better than we are. Makes all the messy, gory, excruciating, tedious, lovely, hideous business of being a human worth it, if just for a flash, before you descend back down into your baser elements. Don't let that get you down. Don't let any of it get you down. You're beautiful right now. We all have our moments. Just remember:

Everyone is an asshole. Sometimes.

Honestly, There's Nothing Sexier Than Manners

(Not even those sex-line ab muscle things that go into a guy's jeans. Those are totally top five, though.)

So I have some beef with DC. Mostly it's my own shit, because I have beef with everything (including, even, beef itself), so I'll leave most of it aside and just focus on the manners thing.

Oh my goodness, why does EVERYONE in DC have the most terrible manners? I have three examples from JUST TODAY. Pretty much every single time I went somewhere, some motherfucker was just so crazy rude/oblivious it made it hard for me to continue about my business.

Example One: Not Saying Thank You.

This afternoon I got some grub at Zorba's*. I was waiting on the wall for my number to be called, so I had an amazing perspective on the guy whose order was called right before me, who picked up his souvlaki and fries from the gentleman behind the counter and DIDN'T SAY THANK YOU. He didn't even look at homie. Just picked up his shit and turned his back. The cook was like 'thank you!' without a hint of snark in his voice, and I just wanted to apologize on behalf of all people who've ever eaten at his restaurant, ever.

Like, when, EVER, ever, is it acceptable for you not to thank the person who made your meal? I don't want to think about what kind of upside-the-head-slap I'd incur from my parents if I pulled that shit. Oh, wait. Zero, because my parents taught us to thank people who do things for you, because they were interested in raising decent human beings. Imagine being on a date with that guy? There's literally no explanation he could give me that would make me see the rest of that situation through. Almost anything would be easier to rationalize than that:

Second Worst Date Ever: "I gets real Norman Bates with it. My deceased mother is on a rocker in the basement."

kk: "Oh, word? Is she...was this a request of hers? Is she like, at least preserved and shit? Are you waiting for an ideal location in the cemetery crypt to open up? Are you saving up for an ill plot? That shit is pricey."

I mean, I'm not going home with Bates Jr., but I'm staying through the end of lunch. For the story, at least. But Non-Thanking Guy? Bye. Give me your falafel, and I'm out. Yeah, ALL your falafel, son. Also, that guy was with a lady. Unless she was on a pound of Xanax from dealing with that dick day in and day out, there's no excuse for letting that slide. She's accountable, too.

Example Two: Not Giving Up Your Seat on the Bus for a Child

I'm breaking in some new boots, and my right foot hurt like woah, so I took the D2 rather than walking home this afternoon (I swear, it's just as fast.). Three stops in, a woman got on with her adorable, curly haired girl child. The kid could not have been more than three. Despite the fact that both rows of seats along the front of the bus were lined with able bodied adults, not ONE person offered their seat. (I was standing, towards the back, before you throw your stone.)

My father once said, in reference to the Titanic and other disaster situations: "That women and children shit? No way. Children only. I'm not giving up my seat to no lady. I might kill your ass and float on you, but I'm not giving up my seat."

Which, word, I totally get that. I should know how to swim if I get on a boat. I can't rely on my tits for everything. But children! Children! Yo, get the fuck up and give that baby your seat, jerk off. I mean, seriously. You know what's right.

Example Three: Yo, SAY EXCUSE ME

I am getting heated again, so I'll cut this one shorter.

But, on the real, I don't know if it's because there are so many international people...no, okay, that doesn't excuse the fact that there is no real flow to the pedestrian traffic patterns here. I was going to be like 'well some people in the world drive on the left...' but in reality, if some adorable British dude walked into me because he didn't get how to pass and shit, that would probably charm the tights off me, and that has also happened a total of zero times. Usually, it's what happened this afternoon: a crazy white lady on a run spasms and runs directly into me, and just spins on by, like how an insect flies into you. Also, why are you running down Wisconsin at 5:30 in the afternoon? You realize there's like, woods and paths and LESS CONGESTED STREETS AND SHIT, RIGHT? No. You don't care. And it's not just runners. It's people everywhere in this city. They bang into you, and just don't excuse themselves. How is this okay, ever? I want to have everyone's parents over for a conference: You raised some rude ass humans. You have failed so solidly. Address this.

That's it for now, I guess. I'm also really annoyed that the whole city recycles at a second grade level and no one knows how to cross the street, but I can save those for later posts, I'm sure.

*Shout out! To the bomb ass Greek gentleman who ran the coffee shop on the 8th floor of Boston's City Hall, and who made the straight up greatest Avgolemono soup I have ever had in my life. Nothing has ever come close. I half expect to go to Greece and be disappointed. It was also like, two huge servings for three dollars. Homeboy kept me sa-ti-ated.

Hey! Your Pack Mentality Is Showing!

Gripe time!!! And I'm giving the ladies a break today, because - oh, boys. Men, guys, dudes, whatever you are - did no one ever tell you that when you're at that point in yor life where you find yourself wearing a suit and tie to work everyday, you're also at a point where A BACKPACK SHOULD NO LONGER BE A PART OF THAT OUTFIT.

And if, in fact, no one ever told you...you needed to be told? Just get a briefcase. If you need your backpack that much, get a job that encourages athletic footwear and alternative hours. You'll probably be happier in the long run. Or just like, go hiking or sightseeing on the weekends or something. You can scratch the itch. Just leave it at home until you figure it out, ok? Stop trying to justify all the zippers.

No, I'm serious. You look like a Boy's State delegate. So just...stop. Ok? You're making me a little sad.

Front and Side Dickbags

General Life Guideline: If a vanity license plate makes any sort of reference to the make and/or model of the car that it's affixed to...then the owner of that car is a total fucking dickbag.

I'm just saying.

Straight Flush

You know who are totally best friends? The fat bastards who eat lamb curry on the T, use the elevator to travel one floor, and the asswads that chatter on their cellphones in the fucking bathroom stall. Not just in the bathroom, mind you, everyone has had to do that from time to time. And not just sequestered in one far stall while occupants do their business far far far down the other end of the row. I'm talking about the freakish specimens that find it perfectly acceptable to sit in the stall next to you in the tiniest bathroom in the building, and carry on to whatever poor slob has deigned to associate with them. Fucking unreal.

I mean, in what universe does this constitute a proper way to behave? Never mind that you are totally obnoxious to your own conversant, Toilet Talker, you are making me SERIOUSLY UNCOMFORTABLE. I don't like public bathrooms generally, due to the gross lack of privacy. Now you are totally knocking down all fathomable boundaries by broadcasting the sound of my urination to a THIRD FUCKING PARTY? I don't want them to hear it, they probably have no interest in listening, and what the fuck is so important that you can't call them back? Seriously, hang up the phone. My bladder is about to pop, and this performance anxiety is the last straw, lady.

Alas, there is hope in this situation. Whereas you're mostly limited to disgusted glares and angry looks in the 'stop spilling garlic mayo on my lap...really, garlic? On the subway?' and the 'you just waited 2 minutes for an elevator to go up to the next floor when the stairs are right there???' situations, in the phone invasion scenario, you can actually give it right back to them. Oh yes. I figured this one out all by myself. Why should just I suffer? When I can very easily fuck your shit up with a...flush. And another. And another. And another. Really. This happened like, 15 minutes ago, I tried it...and just flushed that trollop right out of the bathroom. She was on the phone in the hallway when I left, and tried to shoot me a death glare...but I declined the negativity. Sure, for a moment I did wonder if my retaliatory flushing was a bigger dick move than their invasion of my privacy, but ultimately declared myself the moral victor. I mean, I would never have flushed the toilet 8 times in a row if they hadn't first made it impossible for me to pee in peace. And why couldn't she have just taken her phone call in the hallway to begin with?

I am a little worried about how triumphant I feel, though. Next thing you know I'll be sneezing all over your meatball sub on the Green Line. Just kidding. Really though - meatballs? Marinara sauce? This train is bumpy as hell. You're just going to dribble all over the seat, then? No napkin or anything. Huh. Oh, hang on...ah...ah.ahhhhhchoooo.

My bad.

Come on Ride the Train, and Ride It

Ah, the T. The occasionally convienient, frequently frustrating hot mess of mass transportation, where your experience is guaranteed to be different every time. There is no damn sense to the T. I know it isn'tlikely, but I believe the people who designed Boston's subway system drew their inspiration from the terrorists of urban planning that mapped out downtown streets. Why are all the stops on the Green Line so close together? Not just on the B Line down by BU (that portion of track makes me believe in pure, free floating evil. It's a tunnel of bad karma) but even through downtown.

Half the time it's faster to walk. It's not a very big city, MBTA. We don't need a whole lot of stops just to impress the tourists. They'll figure out how to get lost on their own. At any given hour, there are entire Midwestern families who are going on Day 3 lost in the Public Garden. I've seen it. They can't seem to get out. And then there are the people who get lost on the Freedom Trail. A red line indicating the trail IS LITERALLY PAINTED ON THE SIDEWALK, and yet. But enough hating on tourists, I'm not really addressing their oblivion today.

No, the T-Ettiquette offenders I'm targeting today make up our local population. People who live here, people who write into the letters sections of magazines and newspapers to complain about students who won't remove their gigantic backpacks, high school kids who won't stand up so the pregnant and elderly can sit down, or tourists who open their fold-out maps of the North End -emblazoned with big cartoon cannoli's and a caricature of Paul Revere's head impaled on the steeple of North Church - directly into their faces.

Yes, those people are annoying. But everyone knows that. And I don't think they're the norm - they're just the spokesperson for the group of assholes they represent, and those people need vacations and education as much as the rest of us. You know how sometimes you're visiting a strange city, blending in, trying your hardest not to annoy the people who actually live there, and then you spy another one of your kind - the visting - and they are so freaking conspicuous, you actually feel shame. With their fanny packs and their books of maps and their infuriating habit of stopping directly in the middle of the sidewalk whenever they have a thought...I don't think most tourists are like that, because I'm not. Just like most college students aren't complete d-bags. We only notice the shittiest members of their demographic and judge the whole group. We all do it, sorry.

One thing we don't all do, it seems, is adequately shame local contingencies of asshole T riders into reforming their behaviors. Seriously, Bostonians, what the hell is wrong with you? I have to spell it out? Oh, a list would be more user-friendly and effective? Fine, then, I'll list your problems. And tell you how to fix them. You're welcome. Assholes.

1. Why is your music so fucking loud?
Jesus Christ! When your ipod/discman/zune/other new technology I'm unfamiliar with is louder than your ringtone, we have a problem. Yes, 'we'. We share the problem. Your problem is that you are an inconsiderate turd, and my problem is that you are hosting Inconsiderate Turd-a-Palooza '08 in close proximity to me. Your musical suck-fest is holding me hostage. I can hear every word, man, and I don't happen to dig Linkin Park. Don't you have anything else on there that doesn't crap ass so tremendously?

And hey, InconsiderateOne, how are your ears feeling? How's your hearing during normal day-to-day conversations? Not so good? Are you always unintentionally yelling at people and freaking them out by coming across as the most intense person alive? Are your personal relationships suffering? I think I can help you! Turn...down...the...volume. Also, get some better tunes. Yours are the worst.

2. What level Sex Offender Are You, Anyway?
Listen, creepo - if we're bothing standing on a packed train, holding onto the metal pole for support, don't slide your hand down the pole so it touches mine. Like, don't EVER do that. Especially don't leave your hand all in contact with mine, and then look down at me and smile. Because it makes me think that you're going to drug me, steal all my organs, and then place them in a shrine decorated with my skin and lit by candles made from my body fat.

Nooooo, it doesn't matter how cute you are. The last time this happened to me, the space-violator was completely normal looking, well dressed, attractive. I still got off at the next stop and walked 30 blocks to get where I was going. 2:00 on a damn Tuesday afternoon, I don't need that shit.

3. Are you going to share that paper/sandwich?
Of course people read on the T. And sometimes, they grub. I engage in plenty of the former, and none of the latter, but that's mostly because I am incapable of eating anything without a fair portion ending up covering my lap, my face, or my hair, even when I am eating somewhere completely stationary. That's a personal issue though, and I don't see anything wrong with the gifted among us taking part in a little grindage on the go.
That said, there are plenty of people who are reading or noshing who should not be allowed to do so on the train. If your newspaper must be opened all the way for you to enjoy reading it, then you need to get your own damn seat, or wait until you get where you're going. If you need to extend into my seat, then you need to a) say excuse me, then b) fold your paper back on your side. Same goes for food. If you're able to eat your sub without jabbing me with your elbows, and without spilling tomatoes and mayo all over the car, then snack away, man. However, if your intention is to have a fucking picnic all up in my area, then you are an asshole, and you need to put your shit away. Also, if your food is incredibly pungent, you need to wait till you're in an open-air environment. It may be delicious, but between the homeless guy, the guy who is apparently opposed to showering at the gym, and your panang beef - it's too much.

4. We won't leave without you, I promise
Oh, that heading doesn't refer to you unlucky bastards running towards the T as it closes the doors and makes moves to depart the station. It's not waiting. Bye! You just look silly running! Stop running, already. Goofball. I'm actually talking about the people who CANNOT wait for everyone to get off the train before shoving their way on. What the hell is wrong with you? Is there a seat you like better than all the others? Are you in training for something for which this is an integral activity? Is it so hard to wait until everyone else is off - and JESUS YOU'RE GOING TO STEP ON THAT BABY.

They aren't the only ones guilty of creating congestion havoc. There's also the Door Hoarder. You know - that person who stands in front of the door the entire ride, and when it stops at oh, say, Kenmore on a summer night at 6.30 when about 780 people are trying to exit they REFUSE TO GET OFF TO ALLOW OTHER PEOPLE TO PASS BY. I have seen those people get like, trampled - and they don't care. They just cling to the pole by the door. You crazy freak, you can get out for a second. Say it with me now...we won't leave without you. I promise.

There's more - oh so many more - but I have to go get on the T now. Orange Line!!! You know, the other day, I saw a PSA ad on the Orange Line warning teen hos about the dangerous pimps out there? It broke down all the pimps moves, what they'd say, what they'd buy you...it was the most informative ad I've ever seen. And also, my hands-down favorite, ever. And I've only seen it once. Once! I'm on the T all the damn time! That must be the worst-funded public awareness campaign in history. Pimps got teen hos in this city locked down. They're a well funded group, too - when was the last time you saw a pimp and his teen hos riding the train? Your shitty manners have likely turned them off the whole experience.

Yes, This Elevator Makes You Look Fat

I'm convinced there is a special circle of hell reserved for people that use the elevator to travel one floor. I'm not talking about people carrying babies, or in wheelchairs, or those toting oxygen tanks. No. People in those categories - I'm so damn impressed that they're out there at all, I think they're entitled to use whatever means of transportation they find most useful. I swear to God, I saw someone at an Elderly Commission meeting the other day hauling around a portable defibrillator. Jesus! I turned off my cell phone and everything.

That's not the point though - or the demographic I'm targeting. I'm talking about those people who run up to elevator as the doors are closing shrieking "HOLD IT!!!" and then cram themselves in, reach through and around all the other people who waited patiently and push...one floor. One floor? I feel guilty if I ride the elevator for three floors. You're really ok with this decision? You don't want to try again? Did your finger slip? No? Nice elastic waistband, by the way.

Ok, that was a little catty. But I'm not taking it back. National obesity epidemic notwithstanding, there are other reasons I can hate the One Floor Freeloaders. First of all, it wastes energy. It really does! And no, you don't get to make the 'well it was already going to my floor anyway' argument - I have never seen an elevator in my damn life that told button-pushers-flirting-with-laziness how many people were already inside, and what buttons they pushed. Second - you're spreading germs. Really. One more person getting all up in everyone else's space during the height of flu season...I have no data to back this up, but it makes sense to me. And third...in the event the elevator crashes to the floor, your presence will increase the speed at which the rest of us plummet to the basement. That probably doesn't matter either, but you at least could have avoided your own demise by taking the damn stairs.

If you are a One Floor Coaster, and you happen to read this...you probably don't care. I doubt I changed your mind at all. Just know this - in the event of an elevator emergency - say, for example, we get trapped in one, and we're stranded there for several days - the dude with the defibrillator and I are going to divide you up and eat you. What, like anyone will miss you? You're totally friends with that old lady who spends twenty minutes barking her lottery ticket requests at the convenience store clerk while I'm just trying to buy myself a bottle of orange juice. Hot Mess.

Umbrella Ettiquette

I'm beginning to think that that people should be required to obtain a license before owning and/or operating an umbrella. Ridiculous, I know, but my mind is blown every day by some asshole irresponsibly wielding an umbrella. I think Bostonians are particularly negligent. In New Orleans, where freak rainstorms happen at least daily, people manage this shit without a problem, and pleasantly, to boot. It was there that I learned many of these rules.

1. You may only carry an umbrella when it is actually raining. If at any point it stops raining, you must put your umbrella away. If it is raining so lightly that you aren't sure it's even precipitating - put it away.

2. You may never carry an umbrella to protect you from the sun. Referring to it as a parasol does not help. It makes it worse.

3. Snow is not rain. Refer to rule number 1. (An exception is sleet. If it is sleeting, or something else is falling from the sky that physically pains you and makes walking difficult, you may use appropriate protection.)

4. I f you pass someone on a narrow street, and you are both carrying umbrellas, one of you must raise and one of you must lower your umbrellas so that you don't whack into each other. Sensically, the tall person should extend their arm skyward, and the shorter individual should bend their elbow. There is no need for a battle of wills. Be decent.

5. THIS RULE IS IS SO UNDERRATED, KEEP YOUR UMBRELLAS AND YOUR BICYCLES COMPLETELY SEPARATED. Sorry, couldn't help myself. But really - every time I see someone riding a bike while holding an umbrella I feel like my head is going to explode.

6. The only time an umbrella may be opened inside is for drying purposes.

7. When entering or exiting a building, you may not block the doorway while struggling to open or close your umbrella. Besides being incredibly rude, it also constitutes a fire hazard.

7a. When exiting a building you may not, under any circumstances, stick your umbrella out the door and blindly open it onto the sidewalk INTO THE FACES AND BODIES OF INNOCENT PEDESTRIANS. A violation of this rule is, in some cases, punishable by death.

8. If your umbrella blows inside out, it's ok to stop and laugh for a second as you fix it, because that shit is funny. If it happens more than twice in a five-minute period, it is obviously not umbrella-friendly weather, and you need to let the dream of remaining dry die.Move on.

9. If you hit someone with your umbrella, you have to apologize. Seriously, everyone knows it was an accident. But you still snagged my sweater and got my shoulder all wet. Just apologize.

If you aren't sure if your conduct constitutes an infraction, just ask. Although if you have to ask, the answer is probably 'yes'.

Just as with automobiles, if you violate one of these rules, you should be issued a ticket and ordered to pay a fee. If you commit three or more infractions, your umbrella should be taken away. After 90 days, you may have your umbrella back. If after your umbrella is returned to you, you continue to flaunt these rules, and you are caught, your umbrella should be permanently taken from you, without the possibility of return. From that point until your death, you shall be denied to the privilege (yes, privilege) to remain dry in inclement weather. Should a storm become truly severe, you may be permitted, in special instances, to wear one of those umbrella-hats that help identify assholes on the beach. That privilege shall be awarded to you by a tribunal, made up of small children who have been responsible umbrella-license holders for at least four years. There is no appeal process.