Are you entitled?

I am a considerate person. I like to help others. I obey the law. Even misdemeanors are repugnant to me. If people are waiting to park and the lot is jammed I will try to be quick about leaving. But when I am sitting in my car in Macy’s parking lot eating a cup of low fat frozen yogurt I will not “speed it up” and wolf down my treat just because you want my parking space. And if you repeatedly honk at me, when I am finished with my cup of frozen yogurt I will get out of my car, slowly walk to the trash bin, toss my cup, amble back to my car, get in, grab my ever ready novel and have a nice afternoon read until you go away. If you decide to engage me with verbal abuse and digital gesturing, I will ignore you. You are not entitled to this parking space. There is one just two cars down that will do you nicely.

I never cease to be amazed by people who feel entitled — some of the worst are those who drive down the breakdown lane so that they don’t have to stand in bumper-to-bumper traffic leading up to the exit then edge their way into the front of the line. I am quite sure they think that those who wait their turn are saps. Then there are the older ladies who chat with you pleasantly at the bus stop but as soon as the bus pulls up they stampede to get on first, brandishing lethal canes and walkers like they were G-force nunchukus. No matter that you were just exchanging recipes, you are now the obstacle to be overpowered, overcome. If they get on board and there are no vacant seats they will glare at some poor stooge at the front of the bus and start nudging him with the cane, muttering “make way for the elderly! Give me that seat!” I have even seen skinheads blush under the shaming eyes of grandma. 

I was at Whole Foods market recently where the upper crust of metropolitan Boston goes on Saturday mornings to stuff themselves with food samples thus saving themselves the humiliation of going to get an egg mcsandwich. One fellow, carrying a Tumi man purse, was standing in front of a plate of cheese samples eating one after the other. I watched as he then went over to the fig jam on crackers sample station and took the entire plate of samples and brought it back to the cheese station. Now fully stocked with the making for fig and cheese on crackers he proceeded to eat everything. A small crowd formed around him watching. There was a hostile murmur of “tut-tutting”. He was  unfazed and as he left the crowd dispersed, many of them placing jars of fig jam in their carts.

And, of course, there is my favorite act of entitlement, the single person driving the eco-poisonous mother SUV to the convenience store to get a pack of ciggies. What possible justification is there for that scenario? I have heard the “because it is safer” argument. Yeah, sure it is safer for you but if you hit  me you will turn my Corolla into an accordian and me into a corpse. I have heard the “I have to haul a lot of stuff” argument. That’s right, you can really load those babies up at Costco once a month.

I leave to last the litterer in all his/her manifestations. There is the “toss it out the car window” litterer, may you rot in hell. The species of Starbucks drinker who empties the overflow coffee into the trash receptacle to make room for milk. This makes a stinky, soggy, profound mess when it comes time to change the trash liner. Have they never learned the lingo — “half caf decaf with a shot and two rooms”? Then the spit out the gum on the ground litterer — these people have personality disorders — I hope they are in treatment. And finally, the family members who leave a trail of used napkins, Popsicle sicks, cans of diet coke, overflowing ash trays, socks, and unopened mail throughout the living room. For some strange reason there is a persistent belief that there is a maid employed in the house.