My (Non) Apology to an Asshole

Dear Fellow Coffee Shop Patron,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I had the audacity to sit in the only available arm chair. I’m sorry that it happened to be next to you (although it was separated from you by a small table). I’m sorry that I sat quietly by myself, not talking to you or making eye contact or even fucking smiling in your general direction while not bothering you at all. I am a terrible person.

Love,
Me

I had been having a wee bit of a rough day. It wasn’t terrible, just mildly irritating. I injured my wrist last night doing god knows what and I’ve had to endure shooting pains up my left arm to my elbow all day long. Fun times. I don’t usually take a lot of time for myself, so I thought a trip out for something (bad for me) to eat and a hot cocoa would be a nice treat.

I was very, very wrong.

I walked into the corporate coffee brewing establishment and surveyed my surroundings. You wouldn’t think that nine on a Thursday night would be a busy time, but the store was full. A large group of people had commandeered most of the tables (and the other set of armchairs) on the right side of the store. But on the left side, I was relieved to see that both of the red chairs were unclaimed. I would have to sit next to the annoying hipster college kids but that would be okay. There was no one in line ahead of me (this almost never happens) so I ordered quickly and handed over my card. Behind me, the door swung open and in came Surly Asshole. Surly Asshole did not even get in line to order, he went straight over to the chairs and put his stuff in one of them.

(Aside: Isn’t it annoying when someone claims one of the last remaining seats in a busy establishment before even ordering?)

BUT, I realized with relief, Surly Asshole was alone. I could still have a comfortable spot to sit and read for half an hour. (Brian practically kicked me out of the apartment, so I was going to take advantage of my alone time.) I finished paying and set my stuff down on the other chair while I waited for my drink. Thus began one of the most annoying thirty minutes of my life.

Surly Asshole sighed loudly and gave me dirty looks every five seconds (slight exaggeration). He scooted his chair away from mine (not that they were all that close together to begin with).  I was not even looking at him except for out of the corner of my eye whenever he made one of his dramatic sighs and he acted like he was dreading the possibility of us exchanging pleasantries. Here’s a hint: I don’t initiate conversations. I will participate if you speak to me first, but I am perfectly happy sitting alone. And then…THEN…I had the impudence to cross my legs and (horror!) my foot came within a foot of his bag. He grabbed that thing and pulled it close to him like I was going to stick my nasty, germy, feet in his bag. Another hint: I’m not!

That was it for me. I finished my chapter as quickly as I could and gathered up my things to leave. I wish I had sighed and been dramatic about my exit but I’m just not that kind of person.

Look, Surly Asshole, I get it if you want to sit and not be bothered and drink your latte. But dude, if you really don’t want someone sitting next to you: put your bag in the chair. It has the bonus of no one’s feet will accidentally come within a mile of it.

P.S. I know I smelled vaguely of roasted garlic, but you, Surly Asshole, needed a bath. I don’t think my feet were the stankiest things that have been near your bag all day.

P.P.S. Low blow?

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About Kirsten

Wife, mother, writer and all around knerd. Maker of cookies, scarves and really big messes.

Posted on February 17, 2011, in Rants. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. I think I’m becoming too confrontational because I would have asked him if he had asthma just to draw attention to his sighing. Or I would have just started laughing or mimicking him.

  2. dysfunctionalsupermom

    Chances are you reminded him of his ex wife and brought back memories of all the shit he should have done to keep his marriage whole & his wife happy. Instead, he was faced with the torture of looking at your beautiful face and being reminded, simply by your presence, that he’s a total fuck up who couldn’t do anything right and as such is forced to spend the rest of his life in coffee shops with little reminders from the universe that he’s a total smelly asshole who will be alone…FOREVER.

    At least, this is the shit I tell myself, in my own head to keep from tossing scalding hot coffee on people in public or better yet, slicing them open with the machete I carry in my purse for occassions such as these.

    Bottom line…he’s a douche. You deserved a better night out. I hope you get another one soon.

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