I’m talking to you, yeah. The one outside the bakery this morning.
You’re an asshole.
I know, I know. Mommy and Daddy would never call you that. You’re their special little prince, who can do very little in the direction of wrong. The sun actually seeks you out when it rises in the morning. It only sets after it has been adequately assured that you will be here on this Earth when it returns the next day.
Well, guess what? Mommy and Daddy are full of shit. You’re nothing but an asshole. Just like I told you before.
The smart money says that you’re a waste of my time, but I’m going to take a shot at teaching you something, anyway. Listen carefully, though, because I’m only gonna say this once: The simple act of holding a door open for a lady — or anybody else for that matter — will not cause you the slightest bit of harm. Swear to God.
And don’t pretend to not know what I’m talking about, because that’s only gonna make me want to smack you even harder. What kind of a man sees a woman coming out of a narrow doorway, holding the door open with her sneaker and carrying a bag of bagels in one arm and a little girl in the other, and tries to muscle by her? When there’s only a six- or eight-inch opening no less? Answer: A man wouldn’t do it. An asshole would.
That’s right, I’m the guy who called you out this morning. And fuck you, too. Oh, and if you didn’t realize, when the lady said, “Thank you,” once you finally moved your sorry ass aside, she may have been looking at you, but she was talking to me.
That’s how it works. Men get thanked. Assholes get memos like this.