No, seriously. You, person who works in the office with me, did you notice these headphones smothering both sides of my face? Oh you did? Then why the fuck are you trying to converse with me you A-hole?
I. Am not. Interested.
Nigga what? No.
No, seriously. You, crazy guy/gal on the Greyhound/US Airways/Amtrak sitting next to me, it doesn't matter what I'm listening to. I'll tell you what I'm not listening to ANYTHING YOU SAY. Keep your questions over there in 16F.
And, seriously. You old lady next to me in the ridiculously long line at the grocery store. Of course I want to hear what grocery stores were like 60 years ago. I find your old-timey tales of youth and simplicity COMPLETELY ADORABLE!
She simply LOVES candy.
Ok... That last one aside, I still am not getting what makes the rest of you jerks think you can practice your small talk on me. Wrong.
You know what you need to engage in small talk with me? Talent, skill, and charisma. You know what you have? Bad breath and a bad story. So I'm sorry, guy standing in front of me at the post office, "Crazy weather we're having this week." is not cutting it. Didn't you see me over here pretending to listen to loud music? Excuse me while I turn to the left and act like I'm reading these posters on the wall...
What's this? Next month there will be Scooby Doo AND Transformers stamps on sale?
Fascinating.
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