The first thing that struck me, looking up at her, was that she had a kind face. What struck me next was her nerve. “Hi, sorry, do you mind if I sit here?” Sorry, yeah, I would rather 127 Hours myself. But what’s your name? Jenna? Okay Jenna, were you raised by wolves? I have never once done this to a person.
But go ahead, sit. Sit at this tiny circular table with me. I’ll scoot my laptop up close to what is now “my side.” (She really did say that.) Of course I can unplug my computer! Not because there aren’t two outlets, but because your charger is so big it takes up both. I hope it slips again and again and again out of these limp, lifeless sockets.
I didn’t show up 15 minutes before the hour to get a table as people left for class just for you to saunter in—at 11:58—with this “we’re all friends here” attitude. I hate you. Despite what you said on that FaceTime call you took at full volume, I don’t think you’re “too much of a people pleaser,” Jenna. But feel free to prove me wrong. Please me. Leave.
I’m a good person. I vote. I don’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this—except for you, Jenna.