Thursday, April 14, 2011

I MEGA-loathe you all: An open letter to a bunch of people I've never met

Futurama "Insane in the Mainframe" 2001
Dear Strangers,
Let me be clear.  I already had a rage problem with strangers BEFORE the cancer.  In fact, in my brief stint with a therapist this past year, I told him this:
Kate: "Well, Mr. Therapist, I often have an unreasonable hatred of strangers, leading me to want to punch them in the face."
Therapist: "Is that, um, something you want to work on?"
Kate: "Not really."
So, it's not like this is anything new.  But I frikkin' hate people.  If you are a stranger AND a total ass-hat, this could mean you.
I almost threatened two women in Safeway today for just existing.  There they were, picking out chocolate and toys for some kind of Easter gift basket.  I asked: "Are you in line?" and they proceeded to tell me that yes, they were.  They also (superfluously) added that they HAD to go before me because they were on a break from work and it was only 30 minutes.  So I stood there with my bag of turkey fuming as they dawdled for 5 minutes changing their mind about the color of the basket and which chocolate animal to include (bunny or chick?  um, how about a chocolate FIST UP YOUR ASS?!).  
Then they got the clerk involved.  They needed his advice.  Blue or yellow or yellow and pink?  I wanted to give them an additional choice--strangling or stabbing--but I stayed there with my lone bag of turkey.
As if this wasn't enough of a waste of time, they proceeded to remind me AND the clerk repeatedly that they had to hurry because they were on a 30 minute break.  Then frikkin' GET GOING!  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of me wanting to respond to their remarks with a conversation-ending: "Yeah, we all know about your 30-minute break debacle...I have cancer--does that entitle me to get my turkey first?", they left.  I paid for my turkey and bolted out of there, still boiling with rage. 
I got in my car just as they were getting into theirs (as, of course, they needed to continue chatting about the basket color in the parking lot) and squealed out before them.  That's right.  My turkey had no bearing on their time limit.  I could have easily been out of there in 15 seconds.
This is perhaps a warning to anyone out there who feels the need to keep the cashier at Target busy talking about their bladder infection, or who walks five abreast with their friends super slowly, or who lets their child run under dressing room doors yelling "mommy, why is that lady's butt showing?"...and all the rest.  The cancer may have eliminated my moral compass.  And my rage is never taken out on friends and loved ones (because they are awesome).  You are the perfect target.  So get out of my way.

Hugs and Kisses!

"Lady, people aren't chocolates. D'you know what they are mostly? Bastards. Bastard-coated bastards with bastard filling. But I don't find them half as annoying as I find naive bobble-headed optimists who walk around vomiting sunshine."
--Scrubs "My Common Enemy" 2004


  1. I'm reasonably certain that you're on the verge of turning into some sort of awesome vigilante super-hero. Perhaps "Boob Girl" or something?

  2. Boob girl....nice thought...just keep venting the rage in artistic ways, like this blog...!!!