>>> Casual Misanthropy
By staff writer JD Rebello
September 12, 2004
My name's Justin. What is so difficult? Justin. J. U. S. T. I. N. It's a simple name. It's not like my name is Bartholomew Montalbalm Catheter. Justin. Just Justin. Just plus an in for good measure. Still, one trouser stain after another has a problem. These are the same assholes who can't read my driver's license because there's a slight bend in the plastic which means you actually have to devote .40596 of a second to discerning what it says.
Dumb Fuck: What does this say? Rhode Island or Shode Island?
Me: Umm, Rhode Island.
Dumb Fuck: It looks like Shode Island.
Me: Have you ever heard of a Shode Island?
Dumb Fuck: No. Shode Island would be cool though.
Murder of stupid people should be legal.
People at work do this all the time. I realize I work in an office with nearly one thousand employees, but my theory is if you're going to make me do something, know my fucking name.
Asshole I work with: Can you fax this, Jeffrey?
Me: My name's Justin.
Asshole I work with: Really?
Me: Nope. I'm lying. I just wanted to see what it felt like to be named Justin. For only a brief second. And it felt great. It really did. Sorry for the confusion.
This is why people shoot up their offices.
I love it when people want me to do something, don't know my name, and try to play it off.
Prick Boss: Hey, uh, you. Can you call the State House?
Me: (Not paying attention because I'm not Asian and Yu isn't my name.)
Prick Boss: Excuse me? Excuse me? You. YOU!
Me: (Playing Yahoo! Pool, still not paying attention, scouring the office for Asians.)
I think Asian people have retarded names. I'm serious. What's wrong with Bill and Matt and Justin? Chang Tzu? Shih Pao? Those sound like noises my dog makes when I jam my finger up her cornhole—uh, I mean, when the vet checks her prostate. I'm not into that sort of thing.
Do female dogs have prostates? Next week, I'll run my column by Animal Planet, I swear.
I love when I give my name to someone who's been in America for about a half hour and still hasn't grasped noun-verb-object-predicate. I went to the Wrap the other day, and they need my name so that no one takes my delicious Large Caesar Warp no feta. Me and the guy behind the counter, Mexican Joe as I call him (anyone who can't speak English is Mexican, stay with me) had this exchange.
Mexican Joe: Wrap Caesar Chicken feta no, name?
Me: Justin.
Mexican Joe: Dolphin?
Me: Justin.
Mexican Joe: Cannon?
Me: Justin.
Mexican Joe: Justin?
Me: (Resigned to the fact that I'm going hungry, just trying to fuck with him.) No. Dolphin.
Mexican Joe: Wrap Caesar Chicken feta no, Dolphin?
True story.