My Hate List

I, like many humans, find much fuel in hatred. I am usually at my laziest when apathy takes me over. I’m useless when I’m in love, but thankfully that only happens when I have a cake in front of me. Currently I have a cake in front of me, but thankfully it rained all day so I’m just using the cake to crack crusty shell of misanthropy that the rain ensconced me in. Cake…

In general I reserve my hatred either for intangible things like the wind or humidity (I will fight the wind and I have. I usually lose both the fight and my dignity) or stupid life shit like commuting or windows that only open like an inch because maybe someone could fall out (I say let them fly). And of course, people (not because I’m cool and think I’m better than people, but because I have short fuse and little patience and I’m very self-involved). Now I don’t hate groups of people. I don’t go walking outside thinking, damn, I hate black people. Or damn I hate Jews. Or damn I hate farmers. Hating general groups of people feels like it would expend energy instead of providing it. That kind of irrational hatred takes work. I do, however, hate all clowns because they are all psychopaths and murders. Not a generalization. True fact (please interpret the word fact however you will. I think of fact as my own personal belief). I also, ironically, hate racist. I’m a racistist.

I like my hatred of people to spark from something. For instance, I hate people who go to self-checkout and have no idea what they’re doing. Like one time this girl was trying to buy some broccoli and she was just running it over the scanner. Not like she had it in a bag or like there was a sticker anywhere. Nope, the girl was just waving it in the air back and forth over the scanner. You, ma’am, please go get the assistance that you need. Seriously. If you need the self-checkout person to come to your station more than once, you fail and we revoke your self-checkout card. Also if you have a cartful of items, no. Self-checkout is for people who don’t have time (even though they probably do have some time). Self-checkout is a privilege for people who like the control of scanning their own items and don’t need people to judge them for buying three different types of Doritos. If you didn’t want me to buy so many don’t make them 3/9.00.

But what’s great is that girl with the broccoli or those dumb people with full carts, they inspire me to be faster at self-checkout. After that I go to self-checkout with the expectation that I will be fastest person to ever check out on Earth. What usually happens is that the bitch machine does some bitch move, like refuse to scan an item or tell me that there’s an unexpected item in the bagging area. No, all those items are expected; what you might not be expecting is my foot in your scanner, fucking dumb machine. Oh and yeah, then the mother behind me in line with a child in hand is looking all scandalized because I said fuck. And it’s like ‘yeah, sure. You live in Boston, like your child’s never heard someone say fuck. It’s basically part of the definite article here. You going to the store? Yeah, I’m going to the fucking store.’

Finally I show the store who’s boss when I leave without my groceries because I’m not paying for that shit after I waited in line and then the machine breaks. So I go home, order food and have to wait seven years for that bullshit. Then the delivery guy calls and says he’s there. But he’s not there. He’s still in his car. So you wait because there was a 2 dollar delivery, plus you’re tipping him. Then bastard refuses to come up the stairs. But too bad, because you tipped him online, even though you did the hard part of going up and down your goddamn stairs. But you let him know with a withering stare that you were not happy with his performance and fucking Yelp will hear about this. Then you hate everything and everyone so much that you write a blog about it and feel pretty good about yourself. You’ve accomplish a lot in life. Congrats on your proactivity.

See, hate does the body good.

I also hate couples who insist on holding hands but also standing as far away as possible from each other. Either you love each other or you don’t. Choose. Because if you keep at it, I’m going to red rover my way past you. (Yeah I played red rover as kid and kick the can because I grew up in the 1950s.) Boston has some narrow sidewalks and I want to get home because I have a bastard dog who needs to shit waiting for me at home. With a swell of hatred I power walk past those bastards and continue to walk apace to show them: hey, some people walk fast and they need access to the sidewalk. I usually meet them again at a don’t walk sign. It’s a little awkward.

I also hate my dog when he poops three times and I only have two bags, especially when the third poop is in front of our door. He does it on purpose. He smiles during that last one and that smiles says, ‘enjoy, mommy.’ He doesn’t actually want me to enjoy it. And I don’t. I thankfully always have tissues in my pocket (because I am a grandma) and a tolerance for disgusting things (because I am a garbage person).

I hate people who heat fish in the microwave at work (punishment: they should smell like that they’re whole lives). And people who take smelly shits in public restrooms and don’t use an air freshner, if one is available (they should smell like that their whole lives). I hate people who don’t pick up their dog’s poop (in hell, they should have to lick the shit off people’s shoes.) I hate people who hum in an open workplace (or in general, especially if they look happy). I hate people who yell for you to hold the elevator and then walk as slowly as possible to get there (Don’t worry, I didn’t hold it for them). I hate people who ask you a question that Google could answer (Siri, is he an asshole?). I hate people who think that if they explain something enough that you will start to like said thing (I’m sorry I tried to like Jane Austen and I don’t. Your telling me that I really should doesn’t change anything. I don’t like many writers of that era, however). I hate people with a gluten allergy who never fail to mention it (although it makes my bagel so much yummier). I hate when people use the word yummy when exercising (that’s a yummy stretch. I will punch you).

I also hate people who bend reality and destabilize the basic structure of our democracy with fascist like precision nd behave with no remorse and with a carte blanche of their own entitlement. But those are only Dickensian or Orwellian villains and deplorable monsters of heinous lands. No such creature could arise in a democracy.

But sometimes hate can stir you to action much more than apathy. I’d like to say that I come from a place of love, but then I’d be happy and I’d still have some cake.


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