Douche on the Street #23 - Death at 10 km/h

I don't know whether you're hopped up on energy drinks or speed. But you sit at the stop sign waiting for the line of cars to pass so you can carry on your way. After a few cars, you jam on the accelerator only to discover that I'm in the middle of crossing the street, following the flow of traffic. You slam on the brakes only feet from me. You're timing is bad as another line of cars comes hurtling toward you. I shake my head at your crackerjack license as you are forced to swerve around me toward another car waiting at the intersection responsibly. Somehow you manage to manoeuver through the obstacle course of metal and flesh and be on your way. As a passing thought, you honk the horn at what I hope is frustration with your own stuppidity but is more likely a big middle fingered fuck you to pedestrians such as myself.

Because you are in too much of a hurry to care for the shoed and saddly represent a sizable portion of this city's population, you are a douche.

Douche on the Street #22 - How Do You Say Douche in Arabic?

In a convenience store with about 6 or 7 people in it you shout loudly at the woman beside you "Watch it, lady. You amost hit me with that [cooler] door!" The woman turned, gave you what I imagine was a dirty look and left. "Ignorant people!" you exclaim as you walk toward the checkout. Ingorant people indeed. Said behind the counter asks that you pay $4 for  your Monster energy drink. You balk at the price, start muttering nothings in some incoherent accent that resembles nothing of Said's. I give you a dirty look from behind and Said gives you a dirty look from in front. You pay and leave.

Then you come back and start oggling the Sunshine Girl, clearly with no intention of paying for your softcore pornography.

Because you can't take a hint from three different people that maybe you are opperating outside the boundaries of polite society, and - to be blunt - because you're a racist, you are a douchebag.

Douche on the Street #21 - Impulse Control

You're standing at the counter, evidently waiting about four more minutes for hot eggs to come out of the oven. I hear you say "you need to invest in a better inventory control system."

Oh, really? Do you sell inventory control systems? Otherwise, I'm not sure what possible input you could have on the fast paced world of what I do. But let me check the catalogue. Hmm. It seems that hindsight runs considerably cheaper than a time machine. So unless you're willing to pay about - maybe - five million dollars for that sandwich, I think we'll be sticking with our current inventory control system. Which, by the way, is me. Much to my employer's and your chagrin, I am not psychic. But I'm cheap. So why don't you sit down, shut up and wait. Douche.

Douche on the Street #20 - Same Night, Different Douche

I walk out front and see a young woman standing there. As I approach to serve her, I see the dog she has with her. I''m about to give the spiel about dogs in a restaurant being against the health code but she cuts me off with some story about the dog misbehaving. I figure there's no one else around, just make it quick and get out. She orders an apple danish but is 27 cents short. Her boyfriend has the rest of the money. He's in the washroom. So I wait, tapping my foot at this impertinence. He comes back and she asks him for 30 cents.

"That was all I have," he points at the change in my hand.

"You don't have a quarter?" I ask.

"No."

"Sorry then." I hand her back the money.

"Can't I just bring you the rest? I just live down the street." Pathetic.

"Sure, bring the money back here and you can have the danish."

He leaves muttering something and I know he won't be coming back.

I am wrong, for once. He does come back. My co-worker meets him this time and rather than coughing up the quarter, he spits in her face that she ought to go clean up all the f*cking blood and sh*t in the bathroom before storming out. Since the last person in there was a regular who we know wouldn't do that, we can conclude that he was the one bleeding and doing whatever without the nicety of cleaning it up.

Because you not only brought a dog into my work, and made a mess of the bathroom that my coworker had to clean up, but you also tried to weasel some cheaper food out me - not only would the non-existent money come out of my wage, but I would have had to work harder to clean up after you - you are a self centered douche.

Douche on the Street #19 - Nocturnal Emissions

It's 1:30am and I can see you lallygagging a block away. Someone else approaches, ignores you and moves inside. When I get in within shouting range, you try and bum a smoke. Now, back when I was a smoker, I was often annoyed at the laziness of other smokers. On a daily basis I would get harassed for my tobacco within a block of a convenience store. Since I've quit, I find it even more annoying; why would you even try to bum a smoke from a guy who isn't smoking? That's just kind of stupid. But back to the douche at hand. As I reject his pick up line, he calls after my back that "You should try getting laid and while that frown off your face [mumble mumble mumble]." "Sorry," I think to myself "but you're not my type." I don't want trouble though, so I keep my mouth shut like a good little boy.

Because you feel omnipotent enough to comment on my sex-life but not omnipotent enough to consider that I was heading into a double shift at 1:30 in the morning after 4 hours sleep and hence was a little not-so-smiley, and because the booze on your breath takes up more space on the street than anything else, you are a douche.