I always try to do the right thing in life like a good little boy. I follow all the rules and get in line like the next person, but the truth is, I hate doing it. Having good manners is annoying. It gets in the way of that thing called life.
You know what would be cool? If restaurants would get their shit together and bring all the food to the table at the same time. One, two, three, bring it. Because now I have to sit here with a plate of steaming hot delicious food thatβs getting colder by the second while I wait for your fucking food to arrive. And even though I tell you to your face that itβs totally fine, I donβt mind waiting, itβs no big deal β Iβm lying my ass off. It’s not fine. I hate you right now with all of my heart and Iβm full of rage. All I want to do is devour my food that is sitting right in front of me, beneath my nose, inches away from my watering mouth but I can’t do that because that would be rude!
βWhat the hell did you even order anyway?β Never mind. I donβt care. Iβm not even capable of having a conversation with you right now. You can talk, but I can’t listen. All I can do is stare at the kitchen door and pray our waiter will come out already, bring over your dish and un-pause my life. βIs that him? Nope. FUCK!ββ I donβt even remember what the friggin guy looks like. Every time a waiter comes through that door towards our table a wave of relief washes over me. ‘Wait…why is he walking passed us. We’re over here! What the fuck? NO! THEY WERE HERE AFTER US!’
I can’t handle this. Maybe Iβll just have one French Fry while Iβm waiting. Just one. And the pickle. That doesnβt count as eating. It only counts if I take a bite of the hamburger, which I cant do because of YOU! Somehow I feel like youβre responsible. I mean, ?technically itβs the waiters fault, but I FUCKING HATE YOU. My fucking burger is going to be ice cold now. Iβm never eating lunch with you again. WHERE IS YOUR FOOD?
Never ask. Just take it. Everyone wants the last piece. Especially the guy who offered it, heβs the one that wants it the most. This is America, you gotta grab it before someone else does, while itβs still hot. Whenever I eat dinner with my mother and thereβs one piece left on the plate the conversation always goes like this (please use a thick Boston accent when doing my mom):
Mom: Take the last piece.
Me: No, you take it.
Mom: I donβt want it, Iβm full.
Me: (lying) Me too. Just have it. I know you want it.
Mom: No, I donβt.
Me: Swear on my life?
Mom: I donβt do that.
Me: Yes you do. You wonβt because youβre lying. You really want it.
Mom: I donβt.
Me: Swear then.
Mom: I swear.
Me: No, swear on my life.
Mom: I swear on your life.
Me: Fine. Iβll eat it.
You know what I hate? When youβre eating Chinese food with someone and they take their second helping before they finish their first. Iβm scrambling to get through my first plate so I can get more before my βfriendβ does and this motherfucker has the audacity to refill his plate before itβs empty?! NO! NO! NO! That is bullshit. You donβt fucking do that. How many pieces of chicken did you have? Thatβs a new manner that needs to be taught. Put it on every takeout box: EVERYONE GETS AN EQUAL AMOUNT OF GENERAL TSAOβS CHICKEN!
Why does this get you off the hook from farting? I think everyone that farts should get punched in the arm. But if youβre a woman, you should get punched in the face β cause itβs grosser. Then if you meet someone who has a lot of bruises on their arms or a woman with a black eye, you would know immediately that theyβre up to no good.
I like that in the menβs room there is no excuse for farting β cause you donβt need one! Itβs nice to know there are places you can go where farting is encouraged. Next time somebody farts in a bathroom full of dudes, give βem a high five and say, βIsnβt this great, guys?!β Thatβs what I do.
Thank you, absolute stranger who wouldnβt cross the street for me if he knew it was the only way to save my life. You wonβt say βhiβ to me but you have no problem shouting that from across the room freakinβ room. GOD BLESS YOU!!!! I donβt need your blessing, I need a tissue, motherfucker. Seriously, though, do have a tissue motherfucker?
And what if you donβt believe in God? What am I supposed to say then? The other day I was in an elevator with a Muslim guy who sneezed and I didnβt know what to say so I just yelled, βWHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU HIDING BIN LADAN, YOU ARAB PIECE OF SHIT?!β
I hold doors because Iβm a gentleman and Iβm strong. But I never know what the appropriate distance cutoff is for an approaching door user. Somebody might be five hundred feet away and Iβll feel obligated to stand there like an asshole waiting for them. I mean, god forbid I let the door go and the guy behind me has to open it himself. Then Iβll probably end up seeing him in my next meeting and he wonβt want to do business with me because Iβm the guy who doesnβt hold doors.
I like the people that run for the door. I appreciate that. They know I got somewhere to be and we donβt know each other. But in this instance, weβre like a two man relay team. He knows I canβt leave until he reaches the door. Oh, shit, he just dropped a bunch of his papers. Do I still have to stand here waiting or does the free me from my responsibility. FUCK! He just looked at me, now I gotta go help him pick up his papers. This sucks. I shouldβve never held the door in the first place. DAMMIT!