For the non-confrontational misanthrope, the smallest act of rebellion is giving someone the wrong directions purposefully. Nothing makes one with a hatred of humanity feel better than knowing that if his fellow human unable to reach their destination, it is because of the wrong directions they gave.
I am guilty of such pleasure. I cannot enumerate the amount of times I have purposefully given a person the wrong directions simply for my own psychological amusement. Though I may not know for certain if they will take my directions exactly as described, the idea that there is a possibility they will get lost as a result of doing so makes me smile in joy.
One specific incident comes to mind. I had been waiting for the bus to take me back home after a couple of hours of running errands when a gentleman in his mid thirties approaches me with a confused look on his face. I immediately identified him as being a non-tourist who happened to possibly be from outside the GTA. Looking around, perplexed by his surroundings, he approaches me with apprehension.
“I was told I needed to take a bus going away from the Yonge-Sheppart station. Does this bus go to Young-Sheppard station?” he asks.
“Nope, no it doesn't sir.” I reply confidently. Little did he know he would rue the day he asked me for directions.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, no problem. None at all!” I’m smiling inside my head right about now.
Eventually the bus arrives going to Yonge-Sheppard station and we both get on. The gentleman makes an effort to sit close to me I would assume in case he needed any more guidance. I treat this act with a grain of salt. I calmly sit in front of him and smile politely.
The gentleman looks around uneasily as if their body can feel it’s traveling the wrong way as their brain refuses to listen. After all, I did tell him that he was on the right bus. Why would I lie for? He begins to look at me in confusion as I greet his confused eyes with a smile.
I make sure to get off before he realizes I’ve led him astray. By the time he has noticed, I’m already halfway home and have received my psychological pleasure. I play in my mind continuously the possibility this individual is lost in the GTA and has simultaneously used their last token, ticket or two seventy-five.
Yes, these little things provide me with much psychological pleasure. I feel no guilt about the incident whatsoever; okay, I just lied - I do have some guilt: I should of made my directions more complex.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
quatre.
After rushing headlong into the bus minutes ago, an available seat finally revealed itself to me. Letting out a sigh of relief, I sat my weary body down and closed my eyes as I laid my head back in rest. It was when she made herself known.
‘Sorry,’ she replied after lightly bumping me on the knee, waking me up from my light slumber. Obviously this was a tactic to get my attention. It worked. Lifting my head up and opening my eyes I saw in front of me an elderly woman smiling. ‘These old legs seem to have a mind of their own!’ she smiled cordially. Her bumping me was no accident.
After replaying the short event that took place in my head for a couple seconds, it was painfully clear she was signaling me to give up my seat to her so she didn’t have to stand. It seemed that she was using social etiquette against me in hopes of scoring a seat. Though she knew I had every right to my seat and by law didn’t have to give it to her, an unwritten rule said I had to since she was elderly.
But gentleman, I tell you, today was not a day I wanted to be chivalrous! Especially to a manipulative woman! I had worked an entire day sans break and was not about to give my seat to a woman who relied on social etiquette to get what she wanted. If she wanted a seat, I decided, she’d have to ask me for it. Ignoring her, by pretending to be too tired to understand her, I returned to my former position of rest.
‘My legs aren’t what they used to be,’ she commented to a lady standing beside her. ‘Not since the arthritis began, you know.’
Still pretending to be asleep, I continued to ignore her. Five minutes passed before she continued her indirect plea to me.
‘My poor legs… I’m not sure how long I can do this.’ She continued not speaking to anyone specifically, but hoping someone specific would hear. I could feel the eyes of everyone on the bus set their disapproving gaze upon me.
‘Would you like a seat, ma’am?’ I asked, getting up finally. I had grown tired of her lofty presence over me.
‘That would be great,’ she rejoined. ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be, you know,’ She said for the fiftieth fucking time. ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ she smiled, taking my seat. I smiled back scornfully.
‘It’s nothing. It’s my stop now anyways.’
Getting off the bus, the disapproving gaze of the other passengers followed me as I walked in the opposite direction as if studying my face for the next time they saw me.
‘Asshole!’ the old lady yelled out the window as the bus drove off.
‘Sorry,’ she replied after lightly bumping me on the knee, waking me up from my light slumber. Obviously this was a tactic to get my attention. It worked. Lifting my head up and opening my eyes I saw in front of me an elderly woman smiling. ‘These old legs seem to have a mind of their own!’ she smiled cordially. Her bumping me was no accident.
After replaying the short event that took place in my head for a couple seconds, it was painfully clear she was signaling me to give up my seat to her so she didn’t have to stand. It seemed that she was using social etiquette against me in hopes of scoring a seat. Though she knew I had every right to my seat and by law didn’t have to give it to her, an unwritten rule said I had to since she was elderly.
But gentleman, I tell you, today was not a day I wanted to be chivalrous! Especially to a manipulative woman! I had worked an entire day sans break and was not about to give my seat to a woman who relied on social etiquette to get what she wanted. If she wanted a seat, I decided, she’d have to ask me for it. Ignoring her, by pretending to be too tired to understand her, I returned to my former position of rest.
‘My legs aren’t what they used to be,’ she commented to a lady standing beside her. ‘Not since the arthritis began, you know.’
Still pretending to be asleep, I continued to ignore her. Five minutes passed before she continued her indirect plea to me.
‘My poor legs… I’m not sure how long I can do this.’ She continued not speaking to anyone specifically, but hoping someone specific would hear. I could feel the eyes of everyone on the bus set their disapproving gaze upon me.
‘Would you like a seat, ma’am?’ I asked, getting up finally. I had grown tired of her lofty presence over me.
‘That would be great,’ she rejoined. ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be, you know,’ She said for the fiftieth fucking time. ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ she smiled, taking my seat. I smiled back scornfully.
‘It’s nothing. It’s my stop now anyways.’
Getting off the bus, the disapproving gaze of the other passengers followed me as I walked in the opposite direction as if studying my face for the next time they saw me.
‘Asshole!’ the old lady yelled out the window as the bus drove off.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
trois.
Recently, I had decided to rejoin society after viewing it for many years through a peephole. From my hole I would write my criticisms and views of a society I refused to take part in because of my hatred for humanity. With my announcement, I expected my entrance to be much like the following.
Gathering around my hole, numerous people from my so-called life await my appearance. Co-workers, close friends and a handful of people I respect. They’d be waiting around my hole with bated breath while I ready myself for my reintroduction to society.
‘Sound the trumpets! He’s rejoining us!’ one would cry to onlookers who would all be gathered around my hole.
‘Be quiet,’ another would cut in, ‘you’ll scare him back underground!’
‘I think I see his head… and a hand?’ another would comment as I slowly emerge.
Upon fully emerging, confetti would flood the sky with my name being chanted over and over. I would wince at the bright light that greet my eyes as all of my years underground have left me surrounded in a troubled darkness.
‘Thank you for rejoining us, Anthony! We’ve missed you terribly!’
‘I want to have him first!’ a woman would cry, shoving herself ahead of the thousands of women fighting for a chance to save my troubled soul.
I would pretend to be impartial to my reintroduction but deep inside would be full of joy since I hoped mending my relationship with society would prove to be fruitful this time around. After shaking a couple of hands and kissing babies, which I do with much hesitation, the on looking crowd would chant my name as I attempt to silence them to make a speech.
In my speech, I’d talk about all I’ve been through. I’d talk about the ugly place I was in 4 years ago and all I’ve been through to get to this point. I’d talk about alcohol abuse, prescription drug use and my thoughts of on a world I vowed never to rejoin again. With each positive word leaving my mouth, a quick ‘horrah!’ would leave the mouths of my audience. Upon finishing my speech, I’d crowd surf my way to the exit and begin my new life in society. In this new era I would find happiness in every aspect of my life and have absolutely no regrets
I then wake up from this obvious dream to see that this is not to be so. It has only been a couple months since my reintroduction and already I’m missing my hole.
Gathering around my hole, numerous people from my so-called life await my appearance. Co-workers, close friends and a handful of people I respect. They’d be waiting around my hole with bated breath while I ready myself for my reintroduction to society.
‘Sound the trumpets! He’s rejoining us!’ one would cry to onlookers who would all be gathered around my hole.
‘Be quiet,’ another would cut in, ‘you’ll scare him back underground!’
‘I think I see his head… and a hand?’ another would comment as I slowly emerge.
Upon fully emerging, confetti would flood the sky with my name being chanted over and over. I would wince at the bright light that greet my eyes as all of my years underground have left me surrounded in a troubled darkness.
‘Thank you for rejoining us, Anthony! We’ve missed you terribly!’
‘I want to have him first!’ a woman would cry, shoving herself ahead of the thousands of women fighting for a chance to save my troubled soul.
I would pretend to be impartial to my reintroduction but deep inside would be full of joy since I hoped mending my relationship with society would prove to be fruitful this time around. After shaking a couple of hands and kissing babies, which I do with much hesitation, the on looking crowd would chant my name as I attempt to silence them to make a speech.
In my speech, I’d talk about all I’ve been through. I’d talk about the ugly place I was in 4 years ago and all I’ve been through to get to this point. I’d talk about alcohol abuse, prescription drug use and my thoughts of on a world I vowed never to rejoin again. With each positive word leaving my mouth, a quick ‘horrah!’ would leave the mouths of my audience. Upon finishing my speech, I’d crowd surf my way to the exit and begin my new life in society. In this new era I would find happiness in every aspect of my life and have absolutely no regrets
I then wake up from this obvious dream to see that this is not to be so. It has only been a couple months since my reintroduction and already I’m missing my hole.
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