Look, I know the guy probably deserves that. One, because nobody else has had eight titles on his name. Two, because he's really and literally gotten himself beat up for him to get where he is now. Three, let's admit this: he can be charming in his own you-know-laden-English way.
But, seriously, an Obama meet-up? That's just wicked (think Ron Weasley). He got into what could be the most prestigious and heavily guarded place on Superpower-world. I guess I can only ogle at the news too much and exhale loudly. And wish that I can throw punches as good as the ones that landed Pacman in the doorstep of President Obama.
I wish I can be as on top of my game as he is.
Which reminds me. I had lunch today, alone, at a fastfood at the mall near my then-college. Since it was a non-lunch-hour lunch, the place was not as crowded and the tables were nicely free. That is why, I seated myself in front of a long table. I know, it's supposedly for the use of large groups of people. And using even a corner seat of that table can be considered selfish. But like I said, it was a non-lunch-hour lunch.
(And besides, I can be as selfish as I want to be. This is a free country.)
Hence, when a group of college students (I have an almost accurate feeling of which university, I was so like them before) came in, I wasn't bothered. Well, I don't know them and I'm having lunch, so why would I?
Until a kid slammed his bag onto the table. Onto my long table. Apparently, he's with the large group of people that table is designed for and they wanted the seats. They wanted my long table. The least he could do was ask me--nicely. But no, he didn't. He got all bitch-y and loudly told his friends that my table would have been perfect for them. And I knew what he was doing.
If you have used sarcasm and mockery for even once in your life, you know what he was doing.
I got so irritated that I stared at him to show him that I knew what he was doing. I stared at his friends who were oh-so-guiltily staring back at me. I stared long and hard and nastily. It took a spoonful of my pasta to erase from my mind the thought of actually confronting them.
As they walked away, no doubt feeling as irritated by me as I was by them, I wondered how they seemed to feel that they were on top of their game. I'm hazarding a guess they're seniors, enrolled in a science program. I am no way discriminating, it's just that I know stereotypes. And I wish to all the heavens that they get kicked by reality--hard. I hope they realize, soon, that they are not on top. And they'll never be, with that kind of attitude.
(They ruined my lunch mood, I deserve to wish that.)
While they were settling at what apparently was a less comfortable table, I finished my meal and smilingly gave the long space to a more pleasant group of checkered-skirted girls.
Revenge is sweet. Life also is, if you are.
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