I am blessed, or perhaps cursed, with a rare talent. It works like gaydar, except that rather than detecting homosexuals, I can instantly pinpoint assholes and douchebags within a fifteen meter radius. You, sir, set off my dick-dar the moment I laid eyes on you. Despite your ugly mug and ragged clothes, you walked with the pompous arrogant swagger of a self-made billionaire or a grammy-award-winning rapper. If you're to have a shot at becoming either, I recommend that you lose the white-trash beard and the trailer park ponytail mullet. But I digress.
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You were walking in front of me, irately blathering into your cell phone at some woman dumb enough to involve herself in your life. "Why didn't you pick up the fucking phone earlier, huh?" Little insecure about not being able to talk to your chick exactly when you wanted to? Does she have to carry a pager everywhere? Is she allowed to leave the house without you? Based on your apparent insecurity, I am tempted to remind you that such an overbearing and possessive nature is often indicative of self-esteem issues linked to penis size. But once again, I digress.
You got off the phone for long enough to reach the door of the library. I'm sure we all regret that. You reached for the door and pulled it open, pausing for a split second. And then, some poor bastard walked through it. The kid was maybe five feet tall and 90 pounds, and painfully shy by the look of him. People who only look up from their shoes to glance around nervously before looking back down are often not the most vocal people in the world, and yes, this means they can be a little bit unorthodox when it comes to exchanging pleasantries. In any case, he walked through the door you opened. Perhaps he was about to say "thank you," perhaps not. We will never know, because as soon as he got one foot through the door you jumped right down the little guy's throat. "YOU'RE WELCOME! YOU'RE WELCOME! WHAT TIME WOULD YOU LIKE ME HERE TOMORROW TO OPEN THE DOOR FOR YOU?! WHAT TIME?!" God help him for not dropping to his knees and sucking your cock right there in the doorway. You held open a fucking door. You're an American hero. If nothing else, he should have invited you to come over for dinner and let you fuck his mom on the kitchen table during dessert.
Naturally, he took off without looking back, perhaps fearing that you would light a match and breathe on him. You got right back on the cell phone, as polite and pleasant (and did I mention loud? because you were inside the library at that point) as ever: "I'M NOT GOING TO PUT UP WITH YOUR FUCKING SHIT ANYMORE!" You headed immediately for the bathroom, still yelling into your cell-phone. For a moment, I was tempted to follow you into the bathroom and repeatedly slam your head into an unflushed urinal. I could have swung you into a stall face first, holding the end of your redneck ponytail-mullet for leverage, before flushing your goddamn cell phone and stomping the shit out of your balls to prevent you from ever breeding. Yet I did not. Maybe I was just stunned that your dumb country ass was in a LIBRARY... on a UNIVERSITY CAMPUS no less. But I prefer to think that it was the deja vu that diverted my focus...
Though I don't know how long ago, I distinctly remember being sick, with a hoarse, barely audible voice. I left the library from that very same exit. Someone held the door for me, but my fatigue and the accompanying blurred vision prevented me from making sense of the face. I croaked out a quiet "thank you," as loud as I could manage without straining my voice. I took a few steps outside when I heard a loud "YOU'RE WELCOME, ASSHOLE!" I turned and let out a slightly louder and infinitely sarcastic "thank you," despite the searing pain in my trachea. An ugly white trash face simply snorted at me and went through the door into the library...
The first time I was far too sick to put up much of a fight. The second time, I was simply astonished to encounter you and remember you after all this time. There will be no walking away from our third encounter. I will pummel you senseless. I will grab you by your greasy mane and put my foot in your ass so hard that whatever your drunk uncle Zemus did to you in that area as a child will seem like a trip to Magic Mountain by comparison. I understand the importance of good manners in a smoothly-running modern society, and I can assure you that if you were to suffer severe internal injuries at my hand, the world at large would find my actions to be most polite. And I am quite certain that if I were to do so, you would no longer to consider an unspoken "thank you," as terrible of a breach of etiquette as, say, a surprise ass-beating. Bitch.