Dave's Mental Meanderings
People I Hate
Friends, loyal readers, and late-night internet surfers who
have stumbled upon this diary page – today marks the latest
in my not-at-all-famous, almost-never-read, hyphenated-
beyond-belief installment in the “People I Hate” series.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with my writing,
especially that which deals with the current subject
matter, I’ll give you some background information. I’m
Dave. I’m 20 years old. I live in Richmond, Virginia,
USA. I’m a Libra. I’m very cynical about humans and human
nature, so chances are I probably don’t like you. But by
all means, read on.
All of the entries in my “People I Hate” series have the
same general theme – people I hate. Here’s an example: if
you didn’t laugh just now, then you have no sense of humor
and therefore you’re one of the people I hate. This is
the part where you hear the sequence of 2 drum beats and
then a cymbal, like they do after a comedian tells a joke.
You know what I mean? Of course you do. Yeah, that's it.
Anyway, here’s a group of people that need to be shot in
the kneecaps – I like to call them pretentious
cocksuckers. You know the type. They hang out at
Starbucks. They sit in the café section of Barnes and
Noble. They’re the reason that some grocery stores have
sushi bars. Fucking assholes.
I like to read. I also like to write. And most people who
know me would say that if there are two things that I like
to do besides read and write, those two thinks are smoking
cigarettes and drinking coffee. Hell, who am I kidding?
Cigarettes and coffee come before literary pursuits. Where
am I going with this? I’ll show you.
What better place for me to pursue my hobbies of reading and writing
than at a coffee shop? Here's the problem: in Richmond, there aren’t
any coffee shops. Well, there are a couple, but they’re 20 minutes
from my house, they don’t have smoking sections, and they don’t have
chairs and tables outside – a necessity if a smoker is to smoke at a
non-smoking coffee shop. So I am forced to leave my dignity at home
for 2 hours just about every evening while I go to the most brightly-
shining beacon of pretentious cocksuckery – Starbucks. Decent
coffee, plenty of outside tables, and I can sit there as long as I
want, enriching my mind and blackening my lungs.
There’s just one problem – Starbucks is a veritable public
assembly ground for pretentious cocksuckers. They come
from far and wide to bask in that glowing pillar of
capitalism. And my god, the things they talk about. Here
are some examples, all of which occurred in the past week,
during which time I visited Starbucks on 4 different
Three girls talked for about 2 hours about the advantages
and disadvantages of the colleges that they could
potentially attend. Sounds fine, doesn’t it? There’s a
catch. All of their points against or in favor of any
university dealt with the parties, the ratio of males to
females, and which of their friends were going to be
attending. Jesus fucking Christ, have you never heard of
the word “education” or are you actually attempting to
waste as much of Daddy’s money as possible without even
knowing what sociology is, let alone why you’re majoring in
Two doctors, both male and about 50 years old, were
discussing how much of a shame it is that so many patients
have to be "trailer trash" working-class people whose
visiting families create an eyesore in the hospital. These
people are licensed medical doctors. They worked for 8
years so they could supposedly contribute positively to
society. I bet they told all their friends in college that
they wanted to “help people.” Oh, I get it, only rich
Three women, probably in their late forties, were having a
conversation about the son of one of the women. He had
done extremely well in high school, was accepted to several
fine universities, and just decided that he didn’t want to
go to college. What an outrage! At least these heartless
excuses for human beings thought so. Well, at least they
realize that the purpose of life is to go to college in
order to train for a high-paying white-collar job with
which the individual will not be at all satisfied. But
hey, the money’s great!
I could go on and on, but I won’t. Granted, these are
some of the most extreme examples that I have noticed
lately, but it’s a fair bet that most of the people whose
unnecessarily loud conversations I try my best to ignore
while I’m trying to read or write in peace can fit into
the “pretentious cockers” category.
I swear, the next time I get a disgusted glare from one of
these parasites of society just because I wear cowboy boots
into Starbucks, I’m going to beat the son-of-a-bitch in the
head with a half-and-half thermos.