Scooter Pie

I'm sure you didn't notice that I was standing in this line, anxiously hoping the security systems of America's finest airports don't make me late for my business meeting. I'm sure you didn't spend a fragment of a calorie firing synapses over the fact that I a) work for a living and 2) pay your salary by flying on your commercial jets. Certainly, you couldn't know that I don't recognize your union as valid in any way, considering the financial state of the airline industry in this country, nor your apparently inalienable right to pass 120 people (yep, I counted) and throw your beat up catalogue case in front of a fellow traveler's luggage on the security line.

Well, since you're so oblivious, I'll tell you about my morning. Knowing I had a 7:45 AM flight, I woke up at 5:45, took a shower, packed, printed my boarding pass, and got to the airport at 6:45. I did this because that's the lead time you need to ensure getting through security without missing your flight. So, does it make sense to you that I should then have to wait on you because you have moved beyond the normal strictures of time and space regarding airports, schedules, and human courtesy? Should the employee smugly pass the boss in line and toss his box of BVDs in front of said boss as if he were king of the conveyor belt? But that's not the end of it, is it?

After watching the collective blood pressure of the 120 PAYING PASSENGERS go up a collective 1200 points, the indignity of then finding you eating a breakfast sandwich in the fast-food court is thrust upon me. You ingrate. You heedless, insensitive boor. Well, the marrow of the matter has struck me like Thor's bolt: Epaulets.

You think you are a ranked officer in the REAL WORLD!!! How cute. Your gay Halloween costume gives you Superman front-of-line privileges at airports. That's your super-power! If it weren't so delusional, it would simply be pathetic.

Well, here's the deal: no mas, hombre'. Next time you try to put that garage-sale, union sticker clad abomination in front of THIS paying customer, I will not just remove it, but announce to the (I'm sure) cheering crowd, "Oh, no, Epaulet Man!! I have secret rank as Epaulet-Proof Man Superior Maximus Ventus Vini Vedi Vici!! Out, damn spot! Get thee behind me, or I'll be forced to remove all Epaulets with my G.I. Joe pretend weapon thing!"

Should solve the problem.

I hate you

Don't just sit there and read this. You should be ashamed. Why?!? WHY?!? Because you cut me off on a two lane street this morning. Because you DECIDED that your time and space superseded mine, and that rules are for fools. Because you not only refused to use your turn signal, but eschewed the modern convenience of a rear-view mirror as well. Because you are smelly and bad. Because you remind me of me.