Here's something you might be interested in.
Yeah, you.
You saw us there, those of us who dragged our sorry carcasses out of our warm beds to get in the line outside the door of the Department of Motor Vehicles offices on Normal Street early in the morning so we could get in and out of there without having to wait for hours if we came by the offices later. Some of us, including me and the two people in front of me who got there even earlier, had been there since before seven in the morning, standing on our feet on that hard sidewalk in the cold, waiting patiently, quietly, politely, for the doors to open. Those behind us three started straggling in a little after me; by seven-thirty, the line was around the corner.
When you, Mr. Tight Black Teeshirt, jeans and glasses, mid-forties obviously working out at the gym, rolled up at five minutes of eight, and stood there off to the side of the front doors, I could tell you were a line jumper. You saw that man from the DMV come out and ask each of us what we were doing there and issuing us letters and forms and answering our questions. You knew better than to come forward then. There was already some demented woman with two garbage bags full of crap who kept spitting everywhere and moaning she was ill who was waiting to jump the line; those people ahead of me were lucky I wasn’t first in line or no one who wasn’t projectile vomiting their eyeballs out their mouth would have gotten away with it.
Instead the first in line was a military type young guy who did not give a hoot about anything except getting some papers into the right hands, and the second in line was a woman too timid to speak up for herself. So when the doors open, what did you do, Mr. Tight Black Teeshirt who had scoped out these peeps ahead of me and knew they wouldn’t challenge you when you pulled your little move? Why, you just zipped right ahead of everyone and had your papers first on the counter.
Well, why should you wait behind the rest of us? You can’t be bothered pretending to be something you aren’t, and good for you. Be proud of who you are. If my mother raised me in a barn, I’d own it, too.
And by the way to answer the question your outfit begs to know, tight black teeshirts are sooo 80s gay porn, congratulations, not everyone can carry off that look so well.
Yeah, you.
You saw us there, those of us who dragged our sorry carcasses out of our warm beds to get in the line outside the door of the Department of Motor Vehicles offices on Normal Street early in the morning so we could get in and out of there without having to wait for hours if we came by the offices later. Some of us, including me and the two people in front of me who got there even earlier, had been there since before seven in the morning, standing on our feet on that hard sidewalk in the cold, waiting patiently, quietly, politely, for the doors to open. Those behind us three started straggling in a little after me; by seven-thirty, the line was around the corner.
When you, Mr. Tight Black Teeshirt, jeans and glasses, mid-forties obviously working out at the gym, rolled up at five minutes of eight, and stood there off to the side of the front doors, I could tell you were a line jumper. You saw that man from the DMV come out and ask each of us what we were doing there and issuing us letters and forms and answering our questions. You knew better than to come forward then. There was already some demented woman with two garbage bags full of crap who kept spitting everywhere and moaning she was ill who was waiting to jump the line; those people ahead of me were lucky I wasn’t first in line or no one who wasn’t projectile vomiting their eyeballs out their mouth would have gotten away with it.
Instead the first in line was a military type young guy who did not give a hoot about anything except getting some papers into the right hands, and the second in line was a woman too timid to speak up for herself. So when the doors open, what did you do, Mr. Tight Black Teeshirt who had scoped out these peeps ahead of me and knew they wouldn’t challenge you when you pulled your little move? Why, you just zipped right ahead of everyone and had your papers first on the counter.
Well, why should you wait behind the rest of us? You can’t be bothered pretending to be something you aren’t, and good for you. Be proud of who you are. If my mother raised me in a barn, I’d own it, too.
And by the way to answer the question your outfit begs to know, tight black teeshirts are sooo 80s gay porn, congratulations, not everyone can carry off that look so well.