I might be a Jerk

Here are just a few examples:

Today, as I sat comfortably on the bench of my train-car, a woman shuffled onto the train, barely squeezing between seventy-three other people all standing next to her. And my first (and only) thought about her was: God, I hope she doesn’t breathe on me. Hahahahahahahaha. I’ve re-read that like six times and it gets funnier and funnier – I’m a really really bad person.

Last night, at a bar, a tight-jeans, clean sneakers, mustache with thick black glasses began to talk in our conversation and for some reason, I said in my best southern accent, “Scuse me sir, we don’t take kindly to freaks and weird-o’s.”

This morning, as I was crossing the street, a van pulled past the white line at the red light. I stared the driver in the eye doing my best to convey: hit me! I’ll sue your ass, make $500k and never work again. Go on, hit me! Learn how to drive, asshole!” I then looked down at his license plate, saw it was from New Jersey and looked back up at him eye-yelling, “Go fuckin figure. Jerk.”

The kid doing gymnastics on the subway car. Or better yet, the parents who are too wrapped up with their cell phones to notice.

The fifteen different girls/women talking on their cell phones on the way to work. And straight up, it’s not men. It’s girls. Like they think they’re still in the bar with the music blaring but the rest of us in the real-world are sitting in a coke-can with wheels begging her to S.T.F.U.

I went into the bathroom last night and thought: wow, a black light bulb and seventeen rolls of toilet paper on the wall. Brooklyn. Bleh. But honestly, why should that bother me? Why does the ugliest-man-alive competition among hipsters irk me? Why do I look at the people around me and instantly hate all of them? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? And ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at the beginning: I might just be a jerk.