As leathered and as wizened as I try to liken myself to be, I am still a wide-eyed, filled-to-the-brim with hope kind of kid inside. Lately, I feel that wide-eyed kid getting smothered with a pillow by the angry old man inside.
Sure, just like everyone else on this planet, I have my likes and my dislikes. There are things inherent in human nature that make me want to start punching people in the throat without any warning. Things that people do that make me want to light them on fire in front of their fucking families.
As much as I hate to admit it – I hate pretty much everyone.
Now, this isn’t hate on a racism-based scale. Nor is it hate on a socio-economic scale, either. This is pure, unadulterated disdain for people’s inability to think outside of the three foot radius that encompasses their pithy innermost being. This is scathing and boiling. This is acid reflux.
You don’t drink, so you volunteer to be the Designated Driver for a few of your “friends,” so they can go out on the town and get blasted beyond recognition. Before they start downing drinks like jackals on a carcass, they all make mention to you multiple times how much they appreciate you, and the fact that you will be looking out for their well-being during the evening’s tomfoolery. You, being a sucker, feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy inside, because you have allowed yourself to feel as though they truly appreciate you. You get this immediately grandiose idea in your puny human brain that the night will be all full of smiles and good times – even for you.
The first half an hour or so, you’re just enjoying everyone’s company – them with their cocktails and libations, you sipping on your ginger ale. Jokes. Laughter. Back-slapping. It really does start off like an atypical beer commercial. Even the chicks across the room are eyeballing the lot of you, staking out which one of you they’re going to sink their claws into.
Entering into hour two, your game plan has switched the fuck on up. At this point, you’re trying to corral your buddy who has decided to repeatedly walk over to the group of off-duty cops and start running his mouth at them. And at the same time, you’ve got another buddy who keeps on running off to the bathroom with some skeevy fuck to do shit-tons of blow with. Your other pal? Oh, he’s over in that corner booth, fucked up beyond anyone’s threshold, making out with some seventeen year old piece of fine-fine jailbait that worked her way into the bar with her cocksucking skills and her older sister’s ID.
Fast forward another hour, and you’re actually contemplating leaving these fuckstains you call “friends” at the bar and to their own devices. You don’t need this kind of stress and static. You’ve been punched in the face already by the coked up one for suggesting he chill out. The slobbering drunk cop-hater has already been tossed from the bar, and you threw money at the cabbie, begging him to take him home and not wherever he suggests to go. The burgeoning pedophile is now in an alley behind the bar, balls deep in some girl who will end up telling her mother she got that herpes at summer camp. You’re spent. You throw your hands in the air and decide to cut your losses, gather up the troops, and try to head back to Real Life.
Even with the best of intentions, motherfuckers will bend you over and give you the old in-out, nice and dry. Your “friends,” when they eventually sober up, won’t even think twice about what happened, nor will they even be remorseful for putting you in such a terrible situation. They’ll all laugh and laugh, giving you the business for being so stodgy and “tight.” They won’t even remember what happened for what it really was – motherfuckers taking advantage of you.
Yeah, I know this sounds all bitter and shit. And coming from a cat who no longer imbibes, it probably sounds a schtikel righteous. But it ain’t. It’s analogous in leaning.
This kind of behavior runs rampant through all of us. Shit, even me. I loathe my own hypocrisy. I’m not gonna lie, either – I get all kinds of boiling on the inside when I have to deal with people out there in The City. This motherfucker is overflowing with scurrilous little shits that will snake your last piece of kindness like old Henry Bibby sneaking through the back door. Think I’m kidding? Watch the next time some fuckstains are walking across an intersection. They will slow their roll to a fucking crawl as soon as the light changes or they even sense you’re in a semi-hurry to get anywhere. Watch how the shitbirds will push an old lady out of the way to get onto an already over-crowded F Train at Herald Square. Look around you and see all the fucking scumbags eyeballing young girls like they’re pieces of meat they can go home and fuck.
I always have a hard time trusting anyone. That being said, I’m also the kind of cat who will smile at a stranger on the street – genuinely. I was raised to be good to people on a basic level. My Parental Units weren’t uncouth assholes who left me locked in a cage and didn’t teach me any pertinent social skills. I can be gregarious and outgoing when necessary. I just, over time and through the repetitive beating The City gives me, have realized that it’s a mostly pointless exercise. Especially here in The City – motherfuckers just do not care. And that’s fine. That’s just The Way It Is sometimes. Life is the teacher, we’re the apt pupils. I’m learning.
Of course, there are truly amazing people here, just like Smalltown World. And the people I have in my own little world are dope, on every level. People I would jump in front of a speeding cab for. But the rest of The Great Unwashed?