Disgust

"That is the burden of the thinking citizens: the bafflement of the ignorant."
- Jessica Zafra, No Plastic

I don't like a lot of people. I can only count a handful who have my utmost love and respect; I reserve my contempt for the rest of society.

It's easy to be a reservoir of disdain in this city. Liars. Mooches. Thieves. Hustlers. Otap vendors. Schmucks. Bitches. Good-for-nothing toadies. They're all around; they're a hodge-podge of milling humanity and sometimes just thinking about it makes me want to d run through the whole mob screaming at the top of my lungs and brandishing a flamethrower.

Sometimes I think I should be nicer. Sometimes I think I should care more. Just when I convince myself to "geeb chance to ahders" something comes along and shoves the rough end of the short stick up the butt of that idea.

Like, for instance, where I live. For the longest time people have been sneaky-cooking (sneaky-cooking means quietly cooking rice in their quiet little rice cookers in their quiet little rooms), sneaky-humping (which means quietly dragging complete strangers into their rooms and proceeding to not be quiet) and sneaky-mooching (late-night refrigerator burglars who steal lumps of peanut butter from someone else's stash).

I have a problem with dishonesty. I know how to be dishonest, I'm just incapable of 24/7, 100% dishonesty all the time. I'd implode. Truth is, I tell the truth most of the time. My life is on the table, for your dissection. Please, have at it. So I don't sneaky-cook. I don't sneaky-mooch. If I want to cook something, I take out my little hot pot and cook something.

For the longest time a neighbor of mine has had a stove. She's been cooking with it, not too sneakily. So I finally get one, and cook myself a proper breakfast, and lo and behold - that very afternoon, Miss Dried Up Old Prune of a Landlady decides to officially tell everyone to stop cooking or face a P1,000 fine. Right, that's going to work. Right next to the P500 fine for anyone who drags the opposite sex into their rooms. Not. Working.

I blame the maid. I'm angry.