Asshole Monday: Douchebags and Fuckwads

If anyone ever wants to takeover Asshole Monday or they have a very specific asshole they would like me to publicly humiliate, as always, send it on.

Close friend and IG reader Sherrie needed to rant a little and I am a very good friend so I handed her the reins to Asshole Monday, enjoy (And thank you, Sherrie!):

Ya know those days where it takes every bit of strength and will power you have ever had in your whole entire life not to rip the eyelashes one by one off of the next prick who looks at you wrong? Last week I had one of those days. Work was insane, finals were coming up, I was stressing majorly, and to top it all off, I was getting sick. It felt like I had just finished a razorblade and thumbtack smoothie with a shot of fiberglass and velcro. My throat was in danger of falling off, so I did what any good Memphian would do and I headed over to Huey's for some potato soup to-go on my lunch break.

Now I'm the type of person that will be polite and use my manners even when I'm having the worst day of my life. Especially if you are completely innocent and have done nothing to deserve my wrath. So I walk up into Huey's, some nice gentleman holds the door for me as he's leaving, I say thank you and head to the bar to place my order. I'm polite to the guy beside me even though it hurts to talk, I leave a decent tip for the bartender who placed my order, and I wait patiently for my delicious, warm, creamy soup to be packaged up and handed to me. I guarantee not a soul in that place knew how horrible I felt or how close my head felt like it was to exploding, because I am a civilized, reasonable person even when I don't want to be.

But then... oh but then... this fuckwad set me off. As I was leaving with my soup in hand, I see a couple walking in the door. The man is one of those big burly fellas, a good 6'3" or so, lots of muscle. His wife or girlfriend or mistress or slutfuck or whoever was taking her sweet ass time walking to the door in her platform stripper shoes. But again, I'm polite even on my shittiest days, so I hold the door open for them both. Mr. Big Burly Man grabs the door from me, somewhat hastily, and proceeds to hold it open for his cumbucket of a wife. I slowed down a bit waiting to see if he'd say thank you or even acknowledge the nice and unnecessary thing I just did for him. Nope, nothing. No thank you, no fuck you, no nothing from Mr. Big Burly Man. Really?

So I did what any polite, southern, young professional woman would do. I turned around and screamed "YOU'RE WELCOME" in his face. Or his chest rather. And it wasn't so much a scream as it was a loud mumble. But I said it. He got a snarky look in his eye, I could see it, even under his fancy Big Lots sunglasses. I continued on to say "No it's cool, you don't have to thank me... just doing my job, holding the door open for able-bodied men who are too busy being dickheads to say thank you to polite ladies like myself. Don't worry man, we're good." And I walked away. I don't know that I said that verbatim, but it was damn close.

I realize I live in Memphis and having that attitude toward certain people will probably get me shot one day. But you know what? I'm cool with that. Why? Because I am so sick of rude ass inconsiderate piece of shit no manners having douchebags. I don't really care that men don't have to deal with menstrual cramps and labor. I don't really care that you men don't have to spend hundreds of dollars every few months on your appearance like us girls do. I don't really care that you make more money than us but do the same damn job. I just don't give two shits. But so help me GOD if you don't hold the door open for me or don't thank me when I'm nice enough to do it for you, I will kick you in your motherfucking tiny little hairless balls. It is the LEAST you can do, and it is what you were raised to do, and if you weren't raised to do it, then you should go punch your mother in the mouth, or give me her address so I can.