I am a polite person. I don't cut in lines, and will, in fact, give you my spot in the express checkout line if you just have a gallon of milk and a bottle of Advil, carrying your screaming 2 year old.
I don't know if it is just a change in our culture where we have become oblivous to the world and people around us, or if rudeness is now part of our culture as well; but I can't go anywhere without having someone do something to rankle me. Mostly it's the grocery store or the mall, with some mouth breather stopping dead in front of me, blocking the way while jabbering away on her cell phone about some inane bs. (Being tied to my cell phone for work, I am generally forgiving, but these are usually personal calls about what to do tonight or what Jimmy did in school today. At the grocery store. Because you are that important.)
The latest episode: my trip to the dry cleaner. I'm picking up some coats my wife dropped off. It's Friday, I'm on my way home from Philly, with one more stop at BJ's standing between me and a cocktail.
I pull in to the parking lot behind a BMW 5 series. The guy gets out of the car, looks at me getting out of mine, and literally runs to the door of the dry cleaner to beat me in line... with his laundry basket full of clothes. I'm holding two little tickets. He appears to have everything he owns.
One of these days, I'm going to unleash 235 pounds of polite on one of these assholes.
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