This week, and maybe last week I've realized I hate a lot of people.  Maybe that makes me sound, grouchy, but... lately I have been very grouchy.  After a nice walk home in the cold after work on Sunday,  I found myself crying for absolutely no reason.  No one was particularly cruel to me at work, no one flagged me down  or yelled my name loudly across the restaurant to tell me their diet coke tasted flat.  But I think anyone who has ever waited tables for a significant amount of time starts to hate people.  My father used to always say something along the lines of  "Your mother waited tables for one summer, and I've been paying for it ever since."  It makes sense now.  I judge someone as soon as they walk in, what they're wearing, how they walk, all telling me whether they're going to be worth my time.  I love to be proven wrong, and it does happen, sometimes.

Lately it seems that I am just over my neighborhood though.  I got yelled at by some guy unloading his car, that he parked on the wrong side of the street, but he decided to yell loudly at me because I didn't fully stop at a stop sign, on the bottom of a hill.  It was late.  I was tired.  If he had been a cop, I would have thought it appropriate, but no he was just a stupid guy who bought way too much bottled water. 

And then there's the emails.  I joined a neighborhood yahoo! group a few years ago after a friend got mugged.  Its helpful because they send emails, a run down of the crimes in the neighborhood, who's having a sale, if someone needs a babysitter.  A lot of good has come from it.  I found my leather repair specialist from kind neighbors who shared their experiences with me.  But then there's the guy who gets all upset because someone put dog poop in his trash can.   And I want to scream at him, because if his biggest problem is dog poop in a city of Atlanta Herby Kerby than I think we should all be so lucky.  I want to take my dogs on walks only by his house and leave all the poop in his lawn because he said that would be preferable to it being in his trash can.  And then there's the Grassfed beef guy.  Anytime a restaurant mentions grass fed beef he emails us all to tell us about it.  I don't think he realizes that the grass fed cow who died to make his hamburger is just as likely to be skinned while alive and fully conscious, and just as apt to be butchered and have their feet cut off while they are still breathing as a cow that lived on a feed lot it's whole life.  If he ever comes in to moes and joes I'll let him know. 

I know I'm sounding bitter again, like when I hated christmas.  But I do hate people.  I used to only hate five people in the world, now I feel like it's everyone with a palin sticker on their car.  I think the more I know about the world, the more I grow to hate it, but sometimes I like people too...

I was dreading getting my oil changed.  I was preparing for the lecture of how I should have done it 700 miles ago, or the one about my brakes, or tires, or even just my headlight being out (I bought a bulb I just need to put it in), but they never came.  My oil change took thirty minutes and if I hadn't had the bright idea to go for a long walk in the cold with the dogs on a busy street it would have been one of my most pleasant car experiences ever.  As it was, my hands went numb and I yelled at the dogs a lot for pulling, and for pooping SIX times.
After, I went to buy coffee at Atlanta Coffee Roasters because I had so much time and I am never in that area, but they have a huge variety of beans so it's always worth the trip.  The guy in line three people in front of me had ordered five pounds of coffee all ground finely.  I hated him I'm not going to lie.  Why did he not buy a coffee grinder and do it himself?  He was obviously a coffee snob because he said this was the only store in the area (the whole atlanta area, as he was already driving thirty minutes from home) that had good coffee.  He said every month he had to make a coffee run.  Well dumbass, if you bought yourself a grinder that coffee would stay fresh longer, it would be easier to store, and you wouldn't be holding up the line.  But I will say that I loved everyone else in that line with me.  The girl behind him ordered two coffees, and even though she really wanted cream she waited until I said something when it was my turn in line instead of charging back to the front to tell them they had run out of cream.  The guy behind her kindly waited while the man made him a swiss chocolate latte, that he had clearly never made before, and was surprised to see it on the menu.  Both of them tipped him, and were nice even though it had taken much longer than they probably would have liked to get their beverages.  And I loved the man behind the counter too.  Not just because he looked like Santa Clause, but possibly because he reminded me of my own father.  He wasn't supposed to be making lattes that morning, but one of his employees was at the doctor's and he listened patiently while she explained on the phone that she will be there as soon as she could.  It wasn't a warm tingly feeling that I got or anything.  I loved them, just as much as I truly hate all the others.  But it was very real.  I knew that man, his employees, the people in that shop, they were all real that day.  They all had real problems, places to be, wives, kids, jobs, and I saw more of in fifteen minutes than was normal.  I spend hours with people while they sit and eat, never thinking that they are real.  They are just customers that maybe will tip me.  The people in my neighborhood are just emails, or people yelling at me, sometimes their women with jogging strollers, but they're not real.  They don't have problems.  I wanted to jump behind the counter and help the owner make espresso, pour coffee, find the creamer.  I could have done it.  I could have helped.  I could have been real too, but I didn't.