I don't understand...

... why you insist on wearing a Halloween costume that sucks.

Oh, I’m sure YOU thought it was funny to dress up in your over-sized orange shirt and white leggings and call it your costume for the day.  I can just picture you talking on the phone with your “favorite girlfriend” (read another single, over-weight and unhappy secretary – err - Executive Assistant in the Government) and boasting about your sheer genius and creativity.

Well, put a cork in it honey.  We all know you’ve worked in the same dead-end job in the City for the past 20 years and will spend a bulk of your day at your "mandatory" team-building costume party - instead of figuring out how to cut my property taxes, reduce the deficit and address our mass transportation issues. 

Since you're very employment surely amounts to the definition of tax-payer waste, could you at least make an attempt to doll yourself up in a semi-respectable Halloween costume that truly embraces your obvious mediocrity?

Here’s an idea.  Try putting a sheet over your head and saying you’re a ghost.  At the very least, it should open the eyes of all of your co-workers at the delightful opportunity of not having to experience your “creativity” next year.

... why you think witty signs will prompt me to give you money.

  Hmm... Let me see...  I'll go with "Bone Lazy" for $500 Alex.

... why you insist on turning Starbucks into a personal day care centre.

The picture is VERY clear ladies.  You've banded together in your little post-pregnancy exercise group to talk each other down while you attempt to reclaim your pre-pregnancy body shapes.  And more power to you, although judging from the size of those saddlebags, I suspect each of your husbands will continue to resort to watching sports on television as an affable substitute to sexual relations with you. 

And if I may continue to be so bold, I sincerely question the judgment of ordering a round of Grande, Extra Hot, Triple-shot, Espreso Con Pannas for the group as an effective weight loss technique.  I mean really ladies, what would Richard Simmons say?!?

All of this is really outside of my main point, which is to question why you think it is ok to embed a phalanx of baby strollers throughout the store – blocking access to the washroom, trashcans, alternate exit options and the drink-pickup location?  I guess you passive-aggressive bitches expect the entire store to clear out while you huddle together and commiserate about pre-hormonal bliss?

And no, not a single other soul in the store cares one iota to hear about the latest and greatest thing your little Sally or Jonny did this morning. 

Do us all a favor and do the following:

-      keep on running on masse with your coordinated lyrca outfits and tricked out baby strollers PAST my favourite Starbucks; and

-      buy a freakin’ coffee maker and hold your little tête-à-têtes at one of your poorly decorated McMansions in the Glebe.

BTW - it wasn't an accident that I hit every stroller with my gym bag as I made my way to the counter.  Also, I didn't have to use the bathroom but I know I didn't wake up all the kids so I made my way back there as well.  And "YES!"  I DID notice the dirty looks you individually shot me.  Did you notice the wry grin on my face?

... why you think it is ok to crowd the door to the bus.

Do you think the people inside are ghosts and can walk THROUGH you?

Or perhaps it is abandonment issues and you're all having a flashback thinking the driver doesn't see the twenty-three of you standing there waiting to get on and will head off without you as your mother(s) did 30 years ago, when she decided to hit the road with your carnie father rather than attempt to raise you on her own?

... why you don't feel the need to engage your students.

Just because you have a PhD doesn't mean you can teach ... nor should it mean I have to spew back your thesis to you in order to obtain a successful grade in this course.

I can't believe you continue to insult our intelligence by constantly going off topic in your belief that you are edifying us as we sit here and have nothing but contempt for your patronization.

Similarly, just because you smile at us and speak with what you consider to be an engaging speaking style makes you no more interesting nor don you with the ability to impart any great wisdom upon me or my colleagues that we couldn't glean from reading a high school text book or watching Fox News.

How dare you continue to waste our time!

Retire already!

... why you and your transexual girlfriend need to block the escalator.

Why is it that everyone in this city is a mental midget when it comes to the simple idea of keeping to the right? The “rules of the road” apply to escalators and the number one rule is "keep right except to pass".

So to the frickin’ idiot in front of me and his tranny girlfriend blocking the escalator - GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY! 

I mean surely you see the lineup of people anxiously waiting to get past you. Do you think the people tapping you on the shoulder and asking you to move aside are doing it to upset you?  They're not. You and your she-male friend are annoying losers who probably have nothing better to do than troll around the mall looking for unsuspecting people to stand in front of and annoy with your disregard for common courtesy.

By the way, wearing olfactory clogging amounts of Aqua Velva cologne only compounds the problem. 

... why you insist on asking for a wine list at a pizza restaurant.

Ok, I get it.  You finally landed a date from your e-harmony, lava-life or chemistry.com subscription and decided to "keep things on the down-low" by going to MY favorite pizza place with your future divorcee.  "It's going well", you're thinking. "Now let me impress her with my grasp of culture and knowledge of etiquette."

Here's a tip Einstein.  You're not scoring points by asking to "peruse the wine list" after ordering a large combination pizza and cheesie sticks.  And yes, that blank stare from 18-year old college student who was thrust into being a waiter because he needs the extra cash for his pot-habit is indeed genuine.

Guess what Chianti Queen, they DON'T have a wine list!  They do have some "house red" and "house white" though - which we both know is akin to cooking wine.  Enjoy those two glasses you ordered as well as the head-ache you'll invariably wake up with after a night of REALLY BAD SEX.

I see an online profile update in your future Romeo.

... why morbidly obese people insist on complementing their Quarter Pounder with Cheese order at McDonalds with a super-sized Diet Coke.

Do they think the zero-calorie beverage will magically cancel out the 2000 calorie, 100 grams of fat compressed into the patty, special sauce and flour-laden bun?

Here's an idea fatty.  Try complementing your size 55 waist with SOME EXERCISE that doesn't involve walking your fat ass back and forth to the refrigerator.  If it can work for Oprah (at least until she self-expands for the 20th time) it can work for you.

... why the less English you know the louder you feel the need to yell into your mobile phone.

I hate to break it to you, you inconsiderate boob,  but yelling isn’t a form of universal translation in ANY language.

... why you think it's ok to chew gum while you're serving customers.

Is nothing sacred in this world?  I just had my favorite restaurant tainted forever.  I arrived for lunch and was greeted by a new and perky fresh face overly excited to take my order.  As I glanced up from the menu, I was startled to see that she was chewing and snapping her gum while talking to me.  DISGUSTING!

Call me a germ-a-phobe, but could anything be more unhygienic than seeing someone’s mouth constantly open and close because of their constant need to chew.  And then they’re trying to have a conversation with you to boot.  And THEY’RE IN THE FOOD INDUSTRY?!?

Christ, even Chuck Barris from The Gong Show fame used to ceremoniously remove the gum from his mouth and store it behind his ear at the start of each show.  Maybe you should do the same, you disgusting pile of flesh.

If I wanted to watch someone chew their cud, I’d buy a cow.