I work–or rather, “don’t work very hard”–in a 20-story office building. I am on the 20th floor. This of course necessitates many rides up the elevator, which affords me (nice, stable me!) many opportunities for the unnecessary hatred of my fellow man.
For example, I was just on my way back up from lunch (read: cigarette), cruising along happily in my own unoccupied car when bing! I stop at 15. An apparently healthy young woman enters the car bearing the Atlas-like load of one manila envelope. She pushes a button.
She gets off on 16.
HEY! You freaking baked potato. You couldn’t handle one flight of stairs? This irritated me greatly, so I tackled her from behind and put her into an excruciatingly painful wrestling hold called the Estonian Milkshake of Agony until security hauled me off of her and clapped me in leg irons.
Not really. But I wanted to. Jesus. She must be a charter member of the Society of the Apparently Legless.
Other thing that burned my less-than-asbestos ass re: the able-bodied today: following completion of burning-stick-of-lunch, I wandered back over to the front door of the building. There is, nicely, a big button with a handicapped symbol on it so that people on crutches or in wheelchairs can whap it, and the door will open automatically for them. Like I say, nice (and, in a cancer care facility, pretty useful). So I’m walking up to the door, and a nice, young couple of kids are at the door and they hit the door-opening button.
Now really. Reach out with your wonderful, youthful arms and open the fucking door for Christ’s sake! You have so many years to come in your future that will be filled with helplessness, infirmity and despair. Do you have to usher them in with such eagerness? So I naturally took out my boot knife and stabbed them in the eyes. Then I stood bestride their fallen bodies and screamed to the skies, “I CLEANSE THE WORLD! I AM PURE LIGHT!” until security came and hauled me off.