In Case You Were Wondering…
…No, I do not need your opinion.
Here’s the deal: I’m moving. It’s going to happen. Maybe not as quickly as I would like, but it’s inevitable. Perhaps it is a bad call on my part, sure. I’ve made literally thousands of mistakes, and there is no doubt in my mind that I will continue to make them until my very last breath. I’m a human being, after all, and if we were perfect, we wouldn’t have invented so many Gods to explain away our misfortunes.
That being said, I respect everyone’s right to HAVE an opinion. I just don’t necessarily NEED to hear it. Do any of you homo sapiens walking about think that you are honestly the first person to betray the fact that you think I’m being foolish by leaving the East Coast again? Well, let me assure you…you aren’t. The record is skipping, you guys.
I can somewhat tolerate the warnings of friends and family members. After all, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t have so many people looking out for me all the time? But the negativity has seeped into the water supply, and now complete strangers are putting in their two cents about the goings on in my life.
Customer: So, what are you going to do with your life?
Me: Uhhhh you mean besides be a waitress? Um…well I’m going to California soon.
Customer: What’s out there?
Me:…besides it being a cool place? Um, well there’s a boy.
Customer: A boy?
Me: Yes.
Customer: Yeah but you aren’t going to MOVE there, are you?!
Me:…well, yeah. I’m going to visit again first, but the plan is to move.
Customer: Well you shouldn’t go anywhere if you aren’t sure. I don’t think you should move.
….the fuck?!?!?!
First of all, nothing is more annoying to anyone in the service industry than someone prying into our lives. The single rudest question in the history of inquisition is “So what are you going to do with your life?”. Oh, I’m sorry, does my current employment not live up to your standards? Pray tell, what SHOULD I be? Also, can you clue me in to how this affects YOU and your shitty personage? I’m so sorry that my entire existence so offensive to you. I’ll be sure to try my hardest to become a “success” (whatever the fuck that means) so the next time we run into each other—and I’m sure we will, since I brought you food, we’re friends now, right?!?!—I’ll be the CEO of some evil corporation, and also an astronaut.
Secondly…fuck it. Seriously, just let me make my own fucking mistakes. When I get to the end, I want to have LIVED and suffered and failed equally for all of the good that has come along. I don’t want to be made of cotton candy and gingerbread. I want wrinkles and scars and battle wounds and a head full of sharp memories of what it is like to not just exist, but take risks and live exactly the way I wish.
And besides, without us, who is going to keep you fat white fucks in good supply of Diet Coke?
