I send out the following message to those grumpy people who seem to feel entitled to complain endlessly about this bout of nasty weather: Please stop. We are all travelling on the bus with you; we all have chunks of snow dripping into our socks; if you look closely, you will see that our eyelashes are just as frozen as yours. Snow, like death, unites all people.
Heckles
If you’re not going to show up at group meetings or you intend on doing only the bare minimum, I can deal with that. But showing your face on the day our project is handed back and treating me like your best buddy is just a slap in the face.
I slump lower in my seat and avoid eye contact. Shrinking my body, I lower my gaze to the scribbled notes in front of me, trying to look extremely preoccupied by what I have just written. My feigned attempts are hopeless: out of the 300-something students in the room, the prof is staring at me.
More widespread and contagious than any virus since the plague, this epidemic spreads not through contact, but by words. This danger is the overuse of the word “literally.”
If I had the capability to make it so that food was always the lowest price and the highest quality, I would gladly oblige; but such a feat is beyond my capabilities. Yet no matter how many times I try to explain this, I still end up with a disgruntled customer waving a hunk of meat in my face.
From roommates to classmates to my own mother, the vast majority of people I told about my vegan aspirations reacted with nothing but negativity.
The ultimate abuse is using profanity where it is absolutely not necessary, simply because someone can’t be bothered with finding a more articulate expression. Don’t get me wrong, nothing feels better than dropping an F-bomb in frustrating situations, but there is a time and a place.
As I walk around our great city, I can’t help but notice a trend: cyclists are douchebags. Now I do realize that there are many cyclists out there who are nice people, but the majority of them are assholes.
