I believe I've made it abundantly clear in previous posts that I love the fact that we’ve reached a point in society where we no longer require face-to-face contact for most social interaction and business transactions. Unfortunately, there are still those moments when we must be in the same room as another human being, look them in their stupid face, and communicate using actual audible words (although sadly people do articulate things like “Oh Em Gee” and “Ell Oh Ell”—and regardless of how bad we want to bitch-slap them, we know what they mean).
Perhaps you feel the need to shove future poop into your head without messing up your kitchen. Maybe your local supermarket hasn’t yet evolved to self-checkouts, or worse--they’re broken, so you must stare longingly at the glorious innovation in antisocial technology while the real-life cashier mumbles on and on about how she didn’t realize a person could consume so much vodka. (Mind your own fucking business, cashiers—okay? Vodka, toilet paper, and catnip are perfectly normal shopping lists, and with a mustache like that and a nametag reading “Suzie” I don’t think you’re in any place to judge.) Or, just maybe, no one will pay you thousands of dollars to write poorly punctuated poop puns so you’re forced to work a stupid customer service job where you deal with the shining shit-stains of society on a daily basis. Whatever the reason, nearly all of us (except for those lucky enough to be full-time shut ins—you lucky bitches) get hurled into the stimulating sphere of small talk with strangers on a daily basis.
Normally I brew my own coffee at home. Partly because I’m not a pretentious douchebag, but mostly because I’m poor. But I’ve been forced to do a lot of traveling lately, which means stopping occasionally to pick up a cup of extreme excrement accelerant on the go. It seems that the unfortunate people working the drive up window at these scam shops are required to attempt small talk with you while you are waiting for your overpriced, unpronounceable cup of flavored laxative. I assume this is an attempt to bolster tips, but it’s more likely to make me defecate in that presumptuous vessel of deception they call a tip jar. (I already paid $6 for a black coffee, why the hell would I tip the person being paid to pour it? I’m sure their corporate captors pay them jack shit to sling their overpriced poop juice, but I don’t think the solution is begging for handouts from pompous-ass caffeine junkies.) Anyway, the next time one of these drive-thru delegates asks me where I’m headed ‘on a night like this’ they’re likely to get all the gritty details of my impending clown orgy in a port-a-potty. (Let the mental image sink in for a minute, then decide if you really want to read this blog anymore.) Leave me alone, people. All I want to do is stare straight ahead and listen to the radio while you’re getting my shit. And before you call me a snob, I believe my hatred for drive-thru discussion stems from my daylighting job as a bank teller in the drive up window. Trust me-- if people really wanted to chit chat, they’d get their lazy ass out of their fucking car, don’t you think?
Then there’s what you make small talk about. It’s almost always the weather. The fucking WEATHER. Because no matter what, it’s always up to something! That rascally, unpredictable force of nature! I just can’t imagine what it’ll do next! Tee hee!!! Here’s the deal: if it’s sunny in July, raining in April, or snowing in January I don’t consider it worthy of discussion with every shithead I encounter. In fact, unless a giant anus opens up in the sky and we’re bombarded with torrential turdsicles or a diarrhea deluge, I don’t believe it deserves any dialogue at all. If we stop having weather altogether, that would also be an acceptable time for a conversation. But until then don’t irritate my ears with that “Can you believe this weather we’re having?” shit. I write a blog dedicated to poop; I will fling feces at you. Don’t think I’m above it.
This would normally be the point where I try to wrap the post up by bringing the whole thing around, but fuck it. Silence is bliss.