Douche on the Street #_: I've Lost Count

I haven't written one of these in a while as I've tried to focus on the more positive things in life. But some douchebags need to be immortalized in word and burned in effigy.

Douche on the Street #_: I've Lost Count

I don't much like large groups of people. Call it anxiety or agoraphobia, I don't know. But tonight I skipped out early from work and decided to treat myself to a free concert in the park on this lovely evening. As I walked across the foot bridge toward the park, minding my own business, a smile on my face, hands in my pockets, I passed a large group of teenagers but paid them no mind. That is - until one of them decided to whip his plastic cup of water at my feet. Disgusted at not only his lack of respect for complete stranger such as I was, not to mention his lack of respect for the environment, I gave him a "What the fuck?" look over my shoulder as I kept walking. One of the girls behind him said "It wasn't me!" as the group walked on. But before I could reassure her that I knew it wasn't her, the trailing member of the gang decided he needed to step up and show me how big his tiny balls were, shouting "WHAT?!" like a miniature thug, a chihuahua bouncing around a bulldog, defensively threatening.  I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to look at him as he walked backward a few steps. "Are you stupid? Look how many of us there are."

"Are YOU stupid?" I asked. Because I clearly had 90 pounds on the dipshit that felt it was necessary to defend his douchebag friend's honour. If he wanted a fight, I was ready to give it to him. Honestly, I'm not a violent person by any means but hours later I'm still fantasizing about crushing his jaw with my foot.

Still, I had to acknowledge he was right. There were about ten of these 15 year old fucks. Even if the female half didn't engage - which I wouldn't bet on, I was no match for five on one. I stood there, ready to defend myself if I needed to but the kid bounced back feeling he'd won a great victory. I turned to go, followed by ephithets designed to question my masculinity.

But you see, it wasn't the first douchebag that bothered me that much. I was ready to let that slide, knocking it up to another case sociopathy. But this little shit was so ready to defend his shitty personality that I immediately wanted to throw him off the bridge. Because I did nothing to him and he attacked me - verbally if not physically - he is a douchebag. And I hope the young ladies associating with these obnoxious ads for not doing crack while pregnant realize just what kind of dog shit they've stepped in and throw away their shoes. Nothing strikes me as a bigger pussy than someone who threatens ten against one. I try to calm myself and realize that he probably has daddy issues because his momma fucked every crackhead in town and the poor bastard doesn't know which one is his. I tell myself that if I'm a "little pussy" for walking away, he must be the gaping king pussy for hiding behind his gang. If we'd been a little closer to the park, I would have just had the police arrest them for assault.

I'm tired of the almost daily onslaught of douchebaggery. In a world seemingly filled with hate and starting to overflow, in a world of Trumps and Fords, in a world of riots and killing sprees, in a world of human rights violations and drive-by eggings, my faith in humanity is hanging by the proverbial thread. I sit here boiling, roiling with impotent rage. So tell me what you did for humanity today? I don't care how small it is, I want to hear that there is still some good in the world because the undouches on the streets are being overwhelmed by the douches.

I carried on to the park and stood tense with anxiety and rage in the crowd of sweaty people that brushed by. I tried to enjoy myself but it was hard. It took an hour or more of music to soothe this savage beast. And when the frontman announced it was his birthday week (apparently birthday weeks are a thing now) the crowd of 15,000 or so spontaneously burst into a half-hearted version of Happy Birthday (for which no royalties were paid) faltering amusingly at the line "happy birthday, dear we'renotsurewhatyournameis." So that was something.