Yesterday morning I had to go to the bank before work to deposit my check from my temp job last week. It was a typical morning in the City; cold, windy, cold, foggy and COLD! As I approached the ATM I saw a high tech geek who was probably the owner of a software/gaming company. How could I tell?
He was about 38 years old, white male, unkept brown hair – a little too shaggy, black sneakers, black jeans, black logo shirt (a bit too long and only partially tucked in the back of his pants), black glasses and the requisite techno devices. He sported an iPhone in an Otter Boxcase (defender series) clipped to his belt, Kindle in one hand with a Droid Motorola as well. He was chatting into his Bluetooth though I am unsure which of the phones he was using.
However his black sneakers were Prada. His eyeglasses were Ed Hardy and he had not one but TWO black stretch SUVs waiting on his ass. He had that nasal whine to his voice that spoke of years of abuse at the hands of jocks, of getting pushed into lockers, stuffed into trash cans, mocked in the locker room, picked last for the team and he is now going to make them pay since he has enough money to buy and sell all of them.
Now I don’t give a furry rats ass if he has dough. What makes me mock him like some high school Simon Cowell is his attitude. He was whining into his phone to some poor subordinate “I don’t want the SUVs, I want the red cars and I have to have a red car since I don’t have the Jag to drive to the meeting because that ass scratched it and it is in the shop and now it’s just not the same. Tell my lawyer to see about sueing that guy because why should I have to deal with being seen in SUVs when he is the one that scratched my Jag.”
In that minute, I really wanted to stuff him in a locker. Sorry. I did. All I could think of is Idiot, entitled boy needs a swift boot in the junk. I hate to break it to you dude but there are more important things in life than your six figure car and your Prada shoes. How about if you try behaving like a human being for a while. Try having a little empathy for the people that slave for you and are trying to make a living. You realize any one of them could feed themselves for a month on the cost of your shoes.
I thought maybe I should feel sorry for him. I started imagining a cool, mousy geek grrl out there that secretly had a thing for him for years without a thought to his cash but he never noticed her. Then when Mr. Big Geek came into his dough, he realized he could buy the Perfect 10, size 2 cheerleader, that wouldn’t give him the time of day in school, even if she is a self-absorbed, soul sucking harpy who only married him for his money. Perhaps he is creating his own punishment in how he is choosing to live his life.
I walked over to Starbucks for a Chai, smiling and a little bit happier.
I am now convinced the next sign of the Apocalypse are these shoes. I know you have seen them or are familiar with them. They are usually on little kids. You know the ones, the ankle biters that are crashing a shopping cart into you when you’re in the canned food aisle deciding between organic black beans and Bush’s Baked Beans with added love and goodness. Now if things aren’t bad enough, they are gliding around stores, down streets, weaving between people in Starbucks like Linda Blair on crack. I want to break every pair of these demon shoes I can find and then stick the head of every parent that purchased them down the nearest toilet and flush. Multiple times.
Bytes From Babylon 