The Watermelon Asshole Brigade

It’s not often I am so violently offended by traffic blocking. Living in a city of three million you sorta get used to the lazy-mindedness of your fellow dwellers. But this morning there was a trio, separated only by time and space. Here we go:

The Green Husk: On the 135 I was sitting in the back back over the hump and a lovely, French-accented young woman asked the gentleman in the green shirt and expensive glasses to scoot up to let some more passengers on the slinky bus. He scuffed, “I don’t understand you.” She repeated her claim and motioned him closer. He resisted, then understood. He advanced one step up. “Oh, yeah, one step.” And then he retreated one step and continued to use up three times as much space as he needed reading the Red Eye.

The Pink Bits: In the queue at Cosi for my usual medium skim chai (not dirty) there was an unusually large number of people. So, instead of stretching across the hallway I started turning the line to the wall. This schmuck in a pink shirt decides to start his own queue and stretch it across the hallway, then restarted by someone else going in a different direction.

The Seed: My most favorite of all is the woman at the cash register dressed as if to honor Johnny Cash. After lollygagging to make a decision on a beverage (she orders a simple latte), she then proceeds to reorganize her billfold after receiving change from the order taker.