Hot Dips (littlewashu) wrote,
Hot Dips
littlewashu

I FUCKING HATE PEOPLE. ALL OF THEM.

We went to see Lewis Black at Rowan University last night. Lewis was really very good.

I wanted to kill every single other person in the room.

I wish I could not let it get to me . . . but man, I just can't help it. He performed for over an hour and a half, which I thought was a long time, and I was very impressed. In that time, at least ten cell phones went off. Ten. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. This is a conservative estimate. It may have been as many as fifteen.

I don't understand why, at cell phone number . . . oh, five, people didn't think "ooh, I think my phone's on! Here, let me turn it off before I create a disturbance." Actually, I think I do understand why. Want me to share? Because they don't care.

The people sitting directly behind me came in about 45 minutes late (and Lewis was over a half an hour late to start, so really, these kids were over an hour late). In the middle of the performance, the phone of the guy sitting directly behind me started to ring. I gave a pointed look to the people sitting next to me, which he was sure to see. Fine. Let's get back to the comedy. Then I realized he had answered the phone. He proceeded to carry on a conversation. Not "oh shit man, I'm right in the middle of Lewis Black, gotta go" -- he was carrying on a conversation. I turned around to stare pointedly at him. He looked right back at me. "Are you serious?" I asked him quietly. I wasn't giving him a dirty look, so much as a "I can't believe this is actually happening" look, because I couldn't believe it was actually happening. I turned back around. He didn't get off the phone. I feel like this whole entry should be in italics, because otherwise, you won't believe me. I actually heard him say to the phone, "yeah, it's pretty funny." After another 30 seconds of me not being able to hear Lewis Black over the DEAFENING RAGE in my skull, I turned back around and looked at him and said "get off the phone." He lifted his chin at me. Twenty, maybe thirty seconds later, he said, "I have to go," and finally got off the phone.

There was this girl, about seven rows up from us. She began to have a conversation with the person next to her. We could hear her, though sometimes we were distracted by the OTHER people having conversations. We looked back at her; she wasn't facing Lewis, and whispering to her friend. She was facing her friend, chatting. She had no fraction of her attention on the stage.

I wish I could let these things not bother me, but they did, like crazy. SO distracting. SO rude. I -- more than anything else, I was amazed that no one was EMBARASSED to be caught doing anything. At the same time, they weren't TRYING to be rude, either. They just -- didn't -- care. They didn't think they were doing anything wrong. I wanted to hack every single person's head off with my dull machete. I fucking hate people. This is why I don't leave the house. Because every single one of those fuckers -- and by those fuckers I mean "the general public" -- deserves to fucking die. Right now.

So what I'm saying is, GOD DAMN FUCKING NO-RESPECT KIDS THESE DAYS, I MEAN SERIOUSLY. I can't wait til someone invents lasguns.
Tags: comedy, complaining, rage
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