Legal Reason to Murder -or- That’s MY Sandwich, ASSHOLE!

Did know that under the Code of Hammurabi, a thief has his or her hand cut off? Or killed, depending on the translation. There are times I wished we could adopt that principle in our modern world. 

 Now, let me be clear, I’m not an asshole, well, not a complete one. As an only child, I do not feel compelled to share. When I do share what I have with others, I do it out of a sense of community, and kindness. Not out of some hippy commune sense of sharing. When people give, I give. It builds and strengthens relationships. 

 But few things drive me into a murderous rage than those who take what is not theirs. And I’m not talking about normal theft. We have laws which punish thieves. I’m talking about the real assholes in this world who deserve to have their hands chopped off...

...the fucking pricks who steals from the office refrigerator. 

(I imagine the sound of screeching tires, as a bunch of readers just just slammed on the metaphorical breaks on their way to convict and or lynch me for the beginning of this post. Right up until the moment I mentioned the asshole who steals whatever they want from the office fridge. How about it angry mob? You have those flaming torches and pitchforks, wanna head over to that asshole’s house?)

 So I’m a coffee drinker. And to set the record straight, I like cream and little sugar in my coffee. If you want to be one of those tough-nuts “coffee is supposed to be black!” people, please save it. Just go break out your “No Fear” t-shirt’s from the 90’s, go watch MMA and pat yourselves on the back about how much better you are for liking bitter coffee, you super-duper toughy-tough guy or gal. (In case you’re not getting getting it, I’m subtly making fun of you. Bragging about how you only drink black coffee is the gypsum of Mohs hardness.)

But I digress. 

 So, when I come to work, I bring my own K-Cups for the office Kuerig and a bottle of the creamer I like. One day a couple years back, I showed up to my new office. I put my brand new bottle of creamer in one of the four community fridges and went about acclimating to my new office. When I was ready for my 2nd morning coffee (the first having been brought in from home) I went to get my creamer and guess what? 

 It was already opened. And 1/3 gone. 

 W...T...F?!

 I asked the person nearest to the break room if they saw anyone open my creamer, and they replied “no”. Then, the person said to me:

 “Oh, ahh, yeah...did you put your name on it?”

 Me: “No.”

 Them: “Yeah, see, you have to put your name on stuff, otherwise it’s free game.”

 No. No the fuck it is not. 

 Who invented this? What under-or-over breastfed, entitled, thieving, douche-weasel made this a thing?! One does NOT have to label their own food and beverages. Is this elementary school? Do we honestly have to contend with brazen born buttholes who justify taking other people’s property simply because it “wasn’t labeled”? I was unaware a sharpie and/or a Post-it was thief repellent.

 Now, I have to share that this problem, is closer to home than I’d like to admit. 

 My darling wife...mother of my child...my soulmate, the other crippled bird like me, but together we can fly...is a food thief. Not at work, she’s not a villain. But at home, she is a domestic terrorist. A prowling hellcat waiting to pounce on your treats.

 Her justification? “Well, it’s been in there so long and you didn’t eat it.”

 Me: “But...that was my ice cream.”

 Her: “It’s been there in a week, it’s fair game.”

 Me: “It was peanut butter ice cream. My favorite. You don’t even like peanut butter ice cream.”

 Her: “I was out of mine, and you hadn’t finished yours. Besides, I can always get more at the store.”

 Me: “That doesn’t matter. It wasn’t yours.”

 Her: “Whatever.”

 ...Whatever. Whatever? WHATEVER?! “Whatever” isn’t an answer as to why you took what is not yours! You can’t just arbitrarilly assign a length of time to something which isn’t yours to take it! Sigh,...but that is my cross to bear. Her former roommate warned me of this, and I thoguht she was kidding. I married her, my lovely wife, for better or for worse. And now sad panda has no ice cream. 

 It was the good kind too. Peanut butter with chocolate peanut butter cups mixed in. 

 So to you, good people of the world, rip off your labels. Take down your Post-its. You know if you brought in a container of spaghetti. And if you go to get it for lunch and it’s missing, walk around your office, and the first person you smell garlic on, hit them in the skull with their “World’s Greatest”...whatever the fuck mug. As they lay on the floor, bleeding and soaked in their coffee, just say, oops, sorry, I didn’t see a label on that. 

 And, just in case you just struck a random co-worker who happened to have brought in leftover baked ziti, hence the garlic, well...you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. If nothing else, the real thief now knows you mean business and will leave your shit alone. Plus, odds are you just assaulted the same asshole who brings in pictures of their animals and talks about them like their his/her children. 

 So, win-win. 

 Next time, we’ll discuss how to order razor wire and surplus anti-personnel claymore mines from the internet to keep people from parking in YOUR assigned spot. Even if the neighbor’s douchebag friend says it’s only for five minutes, they’re lying. Just off them, trust me, they won’t be missed. 

Skull Punching the Elderly -or- A Beginners Guide to Spotting a Douchebag

On Wednesdays where I work, the cafeteria has chicken wings at the main course serving line. It’s pay by the ounce and a horrible deal, considering you’re really paying for the bones you don’t eat. But, every Wednesday at 1030, the line is ready to go. 

 One day, I decided I to wanted some wings. I walked down a little early and I managed to be second in line, behind a elderly, heavyset lady with a kind smile and a pleasant face. The line behind us was filling up very quickly and with minutes to go, there were more than thirty people in line. The cooks opened the cafeteria line and the wings were served. 

 Wanna take a guess how long it took me to get my wings? 

 Four minutes. 

 That kindly faced woman turned evil in those few moments. Gone was her pleasant smile. Gone was her goodly, outward nature. This new person wielded the only pair of chicken-tongs and used her ample...backside, like a pro NBA player boxing out anyone who tried to go around her. And why did this take so long? Because she was carefully, methodically and without care or regard to anyone else picked up, inspected, put back, and re-selected each individual chicken wing. When people in line began saying things hurry her, she simply began humming to herself. If they got louder, so did her humming.

 It was clear. She wasn’t oblivious to her surroundings. She just didn’t give a flying-F about anyone else. 

 She was a douchebag. 

 Douchebag means different things to different people. So for me, and for the contents of this piece, a douchebag is anyone who by action, or inaction, places their needs above others. Seemingly with contempt, self-absorption and a superiority complex. 

 So, this goes way beyond selfie-sticks, Jersey Shore knock-offs, people who emulate The Real Housewives of (fill in the blank), Joffrey from Game of Thrones or Kanye West. 

 That lady knew there were people waiting on her. But she showed no sense of alacrity as the line grew. She was going to get her exact, perfect wings and anyone who didn’t like it, could kiss her ass. And, for the first time in my life, I wanted to punch an older woman in the base of the skull. Over chicken wings.

 A couple of everyday, and small, examples are:

 The Asshole who has to back into parking spaces despite others wanting to park. Now, everyone has to stop what they are doing because the Douche needs to back in. And if confronted, they’ll claim it’s easier to pull out. 

 The person who refuses to look back and/or hold the door for others. The same goes applies to those who have to jump onto closing doors, be they elevators or mass transit. 

 

People who have to hold their phones out, speaker on, having loud, often profanity laden, conversations. 

There is a near infinite amount of examples out there, like people who park in handicap spaces, movie talkers,  people who set off fireworks when it isn't the 4th of July, and Dallas Cowboy Fans to name a few. But, I think you get the point

So, despite wanting to smash that lady’s head for the chicken wings, I simply turned the other cheek, waited my turn, and ate my overpriced wings. But the tale I share with others as often as possible. Partly to spin an amusing anecdote about the time I wanted to assault an older person over chicken wings. But also to spread the word of simply giving a damn about your fellow human beings. 

 Could you imagine a world where people considering others’ feelings, actions, needs and wants above their own, was common? What would that world be like? 

Well, it would probably be a lot like Utah. So...maybe we can stand a little bit of assholes...No really, Park City Utah was voted the most polite and friendly city in 2015 on CNTraveler.com

 But seriously, take the time to be mindful of others. Be considerate. Learn to drive and park like others share the road. And always, above all, question yourself daily. And ask yourself are you by action, or inaction, being a douchebag?

And of course...remember to HOLD THE GDAMN DOOR for others!

...<sniff> Big ups to Hodor!