It seems this morning, that my growing obsession with assholes has caused me to take on some of their emblematic traits and characteristics. But before I get all asshole happy on you, not gonna lie, I will most likely place blame on those around me who I feel are responsible for bringing out the asshole in me. Exhibit A: my cell phone alarm. What is worse than waking up 45 minutes late for work (panic stricken-hands to the face “AHHH” home alone style), rushing to get ready, and realizing on your way out that there was no need for the black pantsuit, Hilary Clinton. Its casual Friday, Asshole.
In my haste to get to the office on time, I begin to perspire—by far the cruelest of the body’s self regulating functions. Everyone loves a sweaty, suit-clad mess. But, naturally, no matter how late one is to any specific vocation—the cardinal rule remains in tact. You CANNOT neglect your coffee in the morning. So, after my splenda laden large iced hazelnut was in full effect, I rush to the register, and reach into my pocket to thrown down two fifty. I’ll break it down like a fraction for you—reaching into my overstuffed pocket, I drive my left elbow back in my feverish pursuit of payment, only to be met with, BAM—small hot cup of regular with skim milk (I could tell, it was just too light to be regular milk—forget about half and half). Skim coffee all over this poor (and cute—totally gave him the ‘I’m an asshole in a cute, fun, endearing kind of way,’ eye) guy’s hands.
But being the asshole that I am, I shot him a wicked smile and said, “In the words of The Police, Don’t Stand So Close to Me,” Asshole.
Moral of the story? A cute guy will never pick you up, disheveled and sweaty, after you spill his coffee all over him and then proceed to insult him. Better luck next time, Asshole.
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