THE LORD IS MY HATER

I've worked in the service industry for some time now, and what I've learned is this: people really think they're special.  This is important back story, so bear with me.  The store in which I work closes at 7 in the evening.  But nearly every day, there are a few women with HUGE shopping bags/strollers/senses of entitlement that beg me to open the door for them after closing.

Allow me to paint the picture:  Dusk.  A woman approaches a charming little shop with a happy window display.  She tries to open the door, then tries a little harder...she's thinking, Is my anemia this bad- should I have eaten something this week?  It occurs to her, it must be locked!  She knocks on the door, gesturing with her hands and mouthing "Are you closed?"  I shrug my shoulders and do a frile (a frown smile, I'm sure Diablo Cody used that in the original Juno script).  

"Sorry," I say but don't mean. "We're closed."  

Then the most amazing thing happens.  The woman says "Oh?  Can you just let me in?  I'll just be one minute."  

What I should say next is this, "Oh, I didn't realize it was YOU.  Of course I'll let YOU in.  I don't know what I was thinking."  But instead I say sorry again, get back to cleaning and mutter "tough titties" under my breath.  Just last night this happened again, and I came to the realization that I have missed hundreds of opportunities to tell people just how un-important they are and just how much I seethe with hatred when they request special treatment.

Now, consider the above the prologue.  From it you know that I (a) hate entitlement and (b) as a result of "a," hate most people.  This sentiment has been bubbling for years, but reached a rolling boil when I began receiving emails from people with whom I went to high school.  Mind you, I didn't receive them directly.  As a benevolent gesture, someone forwarded them to me when they realized I was not part of the chosen cc'd.  Fuck, I wasn't even bcc'd.  Sad.   The emails, though; the emails!  Inane, neo-con/yuppy/good job having bullshit.  Por ejemplo, one girl regales us with a tale about how there are so many people from her college in D.C. they are calling their neighborhood (insert liberal farts college here)-2.0.  That's right!  Did you go to Skidmore?  Do want to still go there and make lame Internet plays on words about it?  Then go live in D.C.!  Another girl tells us that her boyfriend is moving to another continent for a while to do work for an accounting firm.  What that means is that he's getting lots of international pussay and probably doing some Swiss bank shit, but do I dare tell her?  Nope.  Instead I'll writhe in anger while I read the next email from someone who, gasp, hasn't left home but still finds new things to do every weekend.  Joy of joys.

So how does this connect with me hating entitlement?  It's almost too simple.  These people send emails riddled with the minutiae of their lives and expect me to care!  I guess not me, because I wasn't sent them directly, but they expected somebody to care.  It's the same as the lady trying to get in the door.  "It's just me can I come in for a minute?" is the same as "It's just me, can't you read about my life and care?"  These people aren't even my friends and they want to me to really care.  Even if my good friend (the one) sent me an email like this, I'd only pretend to care.  So in retaliation, I have written the following open letter to all the people I used to know:

Hey guys,

You probably don't remember me because I'm not on this email list, but let me tell you I know people who have email and they say this whole Internet thing is great.  I have to say, though, thank you,  M--- for starting this!  Without you I wouldn't know what was going on with high school peeps and I probably wouldn't be able to find my own asshole, either- so thanks for that, because I love anal penetration.

Where do I start? Well, my life is pretty sweet.  I'm living in a converted warehouse in Brooklyn.  My boyfriend is a polar bear and we have a dog named Dad.  I think I named him that because I lost my dad in the park years ago and never found him- like that movie, White Men Can't Jump or be Found in the Park; or maybe it was Getting Even with Dog.

So far the year has been great, the polar bear and I are doing well, but every time we have sex he runs away because he can't fight his nature.  Our loft is getting expensive because yuppies like to make babies in rooms with big windows and concrete floors; I guess they can't fight nature, either.  Speaking of nature, have any of you guys tried "boat"?  You'll get wet- I promise.  The Polar Bear and I make it in our tub.  Just don't tell the fuzz where you got it.

My career is soaring.  I have a job at the Prospect Park Zoo slapping kangaroos.  It's boring but it really makes the kids laugh when I get kicked.  My degree wasn't in zoological theatre.  It was actually in off-track betting and pussay.  But when in Rome, do as the Romans do- they're the gay ones, right?  Ladies?  Come on, I got an A in Clit Theory.

I'm looking at your email addys and thinking: who the fuck are these people?  Seriously though who is a----@(omitted).com? Was that the kid whose mom was Marlee Matlin?  Just wondering....

Well I guess we should all follow the lead of so many other classmates and get boyfriends and dogs and tell people on the web about it all.  Oh and hey, M----, can you send a copy of this to all your Skidmore friends?  We'll call it Chain Letter 2.0.  And for the rest of you, I hope your life "is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're going to get...because you're retarded."

Love,

Mrs. God

***

This morning, a kid in my neighborhood had on a shirt that said "Hi Hater."  I nodded and smiled.  Then I thought,  have we met?  This evening the same kid rode past me on his bmx and I saw the back of his shirt.  It said, "Bye Hater."  That boy must be my guardian angel.

Clear and Present Danger!

No, not the movie starring Harrison- still nailable at 80- Ford.  This is far more important.  There is an epidemic hitting the female youths: CLEAR BRA STRAPS!  All we needed was the first heat wave and bam! the seven of you that actually own these pulled them out of the panty drawer.  The upside: you don't look like the lady at the Polish bakery with the pink satin bra that gives her cleft-boobs.  The downside: you look like someone who would call their simple "magic trick" an "illusion."

My favorite application of the clear bra strap is its part in the "going out" outfit.  I saw a perfect example just yesterday in the St. Marks area: a perfectly beautiful young lady (albeit with far too much foundation on for 90 degree heat- think Jeff Goldblum at the end of "The Fly").  She was wearing the standard cocktail uniform (halter top, jeans, stilettos) and a bra with clear bra straps.  The straps were indeed clear.  But the back of the bra, which was showing, was as white as my American Boyfriend's bottom.  It looked like she'd cut off the straps from a pair of jellies and hot glued them to lace.  Big ups to her for the DIY, I guess.

If you're as obsessed with tacky lingerie as I am, i've posted a few links.

note:

brastraps.com: pay special attention to the "Evolution Bra" by Margarita, it makes you look "naturally cosmetically enhanced." Am I right, ladies?  Also the "Adorned Bras," some of which have butterflies.  Need I say more?

strappys.com: they have bra straps for charity- this shit can cure cancer!

Oh, and I've included the link to the Strappys youtube video.  I liked the video-- or slideshow-- a lot, but I would have liked it better if the women were jumping from high places or off trampolines or back flipping off of walls to get into the bras- maybe those guys from the guerilla Levi's add are available.

My final judgment on the whole debacle is this: clear bra straps are a look that says, "I know I'm wearing a bra, but the whole world doesn't have to know- unless they have eyes and/or any sort of depth perception."