Christmastime-loss-of-faith-in-society-blues

I wonder what it would take to rid the world of stupid people?

An apocalypse?

I have 2 beefs at this increasingly festive time of year. One is always inclined to good cheer around the holidays, good will towards men, and all that bullshit. I say bullshit only because in this festive mood, the intolerance, ignorance, and malicious behaviour of others (LOTS of others) becomes all the more apparent in contrast. Around this (almost) universally festive time of year (I suppose one cannot hold it against the Jehovah's Witnesses, after all they do put up such a brave face for the rest of the year... but let's not get off track, or into any undue debates), I put my (g)oddamned all into feeling fucking merry, and the more I do, the more I seem to notice people out to annoy the hell out of me and generally ruin my good mood, the bastards. So with this as a general overview of my current situation, I will continue with my 2 relatively small beefs (in relation of course to the mother beef above) about 2 women (ladies, please, you're going to give us a bad name... really) that I happened to observe today and yesterday whose behaviour particularly piqued my holiday unrest.

Numéro 1: Last night... writing my 7 pm exam. I'm tired, I'm sore, my head hurts... I've been studying all fucking day... but I get to go home soon, and it's all going to be okay, I'm calm, and almost happy as I concentrate on my multiple choice questions. "Tommy's mother denies his television privileges after he talks back to her. This is an example of..." I'm on my merry way--- and then I hear it. Clomp, clomp, clomp. Horses hooves? The sound breaks through my concentration like... something big and break-y. Clomp, clomp, clomp. Surely not footsteps... surely none of the prefects has been so lax as to wear heeled shoes to an exam held in a hockey arena?? I look swiftly around at the jovial little old women and men who are serving as our cheat-spotters. No, they all wear soft-soled shoes--perfect for walking silently along the aisles...
And then I spot her... she walks along the centre aisle.... Clomp, clomp, clomp. She is wearing a baggy white sweater, brown tapered jeans, and... black high-heeled boots!! I can scarcely believe it.
My beef: Putting aside the fact that the ensemble did NOTHING to alleviate her painful fashion NONsense, although I can appreciate a woman's attempt at a fashion conscience (no matter what that conscience may advise her to do), I will NEVER appreciate the sound of heels clomping around on a cement floor when I'm trying to write an exam. That my concentration fell prey to her unforgivable fashion faux-pas, not to mention downright unthoughtfulness given the situation was unacceptable. Bad fucking choice lady. I see you again and you're mine.

Numéro 2: Today, during my hour-long wait at the bus terminal in downtown Toronto, sitting peacefully by myself reading Carole Shields's UNLESS, an older woman comes to sit beside me. I have my luggage at my feet; she places her own at hers. So far so normal.
And then she starts feeding the fucking pigeons.
Soon, there is a swarm of diseased rats-with-wings pecking around my suitcase because this soft-hearted (soft-headed) old bag thinks it's cute to feed these ugly things bread (bad for them), and have them jump all over her suitcase, her boots and eventually her hands, while they positively shit everywhere in their anxiety at having to be in such close proximity with this woman in order to recieve her meagre belly-swelling offerings (here I must sympathize with the awful little buggers, there was a crypt-keeper quotient in effect).
And I just know, any minute now, the infected feathered freaks are going to start jumping on me too.
When the first one lands on my duffel bag I angrily bat it away. I then inspect my bag for green droppings and continue shooting dirty looks at the bird woman (tuppence a fucking bag) and meaningful looks at the numerous signs: "PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS. THANK YOU." I have visions of ripping a sign off the wall and shoving it in her face... unfortunately I'm too well brought up.
Eventually, she runs out of bread.
Eventually, I get up and weave my way through the obstacle-course of winged-rat offings and wait for a half hour in the cold for my bus.
Crazy old bitch.

Merry fucking Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Blessed Solstice... and of course Happy Ukrainian Kwanza(a) to Kiel *snort*

(Holiday) Cheers
silverlined83@yahoo.ca