August 31, 2009

• What's Your Problem?

  I love when people ask me this question, I simply love it. As those syllables spill from their mouths, shivers of euphoria pour down my spine like cascades of warm water during a shower after having shoveled snow for, like, two hours and having cold nipples. Now, you're probably wondering why I love this question so much. First of all, it treats me good, with respect, like no other question ever has. It whispers "I love you" into my ear and kisses me softly, and holds me tight when I'm feeling blue, and when I feel like the sky is always grey, it shines beautiful rays of sunshine down onto my face. It tells me I'm beautiful when I feel disgusting. It opens doors for me and when motorcycle-riding ninjas attack, it doesn't scream like a pussy and leave me in a dark alley to be raped. Our sex is amazing.

  Oh dear... I think I may have said too much. Crud.

  But I love this question, because when someone is trying to make small-talk with me when I'm stocking shelves with boxes of kleenexes, I turn to them and say "Excuse me, I'm trying to do my thankless job here." and then they look at me like I just hawked a loogie in their face and ask "What is your problem!?", as if. You know, as if. AS IF. First of all, they're assuming I have just one problem. I have many problems. Second, do they seriously want to know? Imagine if I turned to them and said "Well, I recently ran out of Vagisil and my itchy crotch is irritating me, and on top of that, my cat has a bladder infection and the vet bill for shots is 500,000 dollars." then, being the thoughtful little people they are, would come up with some clever one-step solutions to every problem, like "Just use some duct tape." or simply go "I'm sorry to hear that, but you don't need to be so rude." but listen; I do in fact, need to be rude.

  So, I was sitting at a very sophisticated coffee shop with World Wide Web wireless magic witchcraft shit, right? And it wasn't Starbucks. Definitely not. But I was there, brutally pounding away on the keyboard of my laptop that I borrowed, but planned to break from my intense typing, and all of a sudden, this guy says "Excuse me, but I couldn't help but notice that you were typing very loudly, and if you could type quieter, I would appreciate it." I sat silently, because there were no words. In the entirety of human communication, there aren't words that can possibly come close to properly expressing the level of stupidity in his request. "Are you kidding me?" I said, and he cleverly retorted with "Yeah."

  I laughed, then whipped off my glasses dramatically, or attempted to, but they clung to one of my ears, so they came off very awkwardly, but he got the point.

  "Do you even realize that I am Celebrity on Xanga?" I scoffed, adding "You're an insect to me, and I am a shoe, and I step on you."

  "What is your problem?" he asked.

  I reached into my bag, and pulled out a sai. As soon as he saw it, his eyes widened, and he shuffled away nervously, realizing that his life could've ended right there. I was then asked to leave by the management.

  I changed a few tiny minor details in this story, like the name of the guy, who was named Peter or something, but I changed his name to "The guy" to protect his identity. Also, by the way, whenever you say "identity", you also are saying "titty", you perv!

  So I ask you,
  
  What is your problem?

  • 2:56 am
  • 61 Comments