He put down his half-empty glass of whisky, paused, and began to philosophize.
“You know, I had an unfortunate need to visit a shopping mall the other day. It was absurdly crowded ― I mean, packed!
“I really, truly hate crowds. Where there’s a crowd, there’s a war of the wills. And where there’s a war of the wills, there are assholes.”
He continued to sip his Scotch. After another brief pause, he seemed to get fed up by his thoughts. He abruptly resumed his diatribe.
“But how many people are willing to admit to being assholes?
“Walking, driving, waiting in line ― these are but a few of the potentially crowded situations in which the asshole makes himself known.
“To an asshole, you’re always in the way. It never even occurs to the asshole that he ― sometimes she ― might be the inconsiderate one.
“’Watch where you’re going, asshole!’ they hiss, if they acknowledge you at all, as they plow through you and the rest of the inconvenient human population.”
I don’t know whether it was the anger or the whisky, but he was starting to sweat. But he kept on ranting.
“The asshole’s greatest enemy is other assholes. When assholes collide, they shit all over each other.
“But like I said, most people aren’t willing to admit to being assholes. They always blame others for their own inability to cope with the Hell of other people. And Hell is, indeed, other people. Assholes are right about that, if nothing else.”
He gulped the remaining third of his drink and lowered the glass with a clunk.
“Then again, I’m an asshole. But at least I’m willing to admit it.”
[Michaelanthony Mitchell | Rantalogue.com]