Doubt without benefit

I don’t like people. I try to, but time and time again, I can’t. I don’t mean everyone. Just about 91% of the population. Just when I think I’m developing a soft spot for humans, somebody open mouth coughs on me, repeatedly on the subway.  Then a white kid calls his friends “his n$$gers”. Then a 13-year-old tells her dad to talk to the hand if he can’t handle the Usher song that’s playing while she tries on $400 riding boots. Then an 18-year-old in designer jeans holds a Greenpeace bulletin board in front of me to point out my carbon footprint. Then some DJ named “The Crocodile” tells me how zany he is in between horrendous pop songs. Then a celebrity interrupts my day to tell me how charitable they are. Then some homeless guy who abandoned his family and drank himself into a stupor gets a free pass because he has a golden voice. Then I hear someone who makes four times as much money as I do say the word “like” 15 times in 45 seconds. Then I see an ad for Jersey Shore and realize that it’s a particularly embarrassing time to have an Italian last name. Then I see a facebook post stating that someone has “ one more sleep” until something. Good god. Then I see a spoiled 15-year-old, dressed in a black, wearing a top hot talking about how melancholy he is. Then I realize that some Soccer mom from Cheektowaga thought it was a good idea to name my dog a “Goldendoodle”. Doodle? Then an asshole in an expensive car cuts me off because he has an expensive car and an impossibly small penis. Then the doorman that clearly sees me pretends he doesn’t so I have to drop my 8 grocery bags and search for my condo fob. Then a group of upwardly mobile business guys practice fake golf swings in the elevator. Then some hipster describes something as being “dope”. Then I hear a Creed song. Then I remember that The Barenaked Ladies exist. That’s the tipping point. Chinese chickens my ass.