Dear Old Fucker: 
I understand that you actually believe that the fact that you have taken more spins around the sun than I somehow entitles you to not have to wait in the same line where everyone else is patiently killing time watching the professional coupon hoarder in front of us complete her transaction so that we can skulk back to our individual existences of varied circumstance which have brought us all together at 8 o’clock on a Friday night at World Market (a.k.a. “having no life”)

I have no doubt that your oxygen tank/sympathy prop typically performs it’s requisite magic; inducing  younger, healthier people to give you all kinds of unearned leeway. One look at you strikes terror in the hearts of all who dread the idea of being dependent on a machine for the very breath necessary to sustain their lives. You are the walking embodiment of fear. A “dim reaper” of sorts, hovering near death, your life force a mere flicker of what it once was, almost extinguished yet just luminous enough to enlighten all who encounter you to the horrid reality of what may lie ahead. 

In other words, you are a bully. 

What you want us to believe strains credulity. Leaning over your oxygen tank and silently motioning to the rest of us that you somehow urgently need to cut in line loses all effectiveness when you are doing it to buy the only item in your cart: a six pack of beer. 

Apparently, we are all supposed to internalize your struggle. You’re at the end, fighting for your life. Every minute counts. You LITERALLY do not have a spare second to waste, unlike the rest of us selfish spoiled brats who can breathe unassisted and still engage in sixty-nine without fear of imminent suffocation.  Our time is meaningless compared to yours. 

Guess what? No one is willing to let you go to the front of the line so you can rush home and get lit. It’s not as if you are buying necessities like Depends, Advil or Listerine to cover the stench of that plastic tubing you mouth breathe on 24/7. You are trying to use whatever poor life decisions/ bad luck which currently define your existence to scare people into giving you things. They may not be scared of you, but they are most certainly scared of becoming you. Using fear to manipulate the emotions of others is bullying. 

I don’t tolerate it from Benny Hinn, Oprah or that prick Steven Spielberg and I’m not going to tolerate it from you. You can wait your turn like all the rest of us who have nothing better to do tonight than troll these aisles for sweatshop craft items and off brand German gummy candy. 


PS. If I had potentially fatal respiratory issues the LAST place I would go is a giant warehouse filled with recently released mold spores from parts of Asia where things can be produced, package, shipped, and sold in the US at a profit for a retail price of less than $5. Think about it. 

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