I'm an intolerant fucker and I tend to take the most irrational of dislikes to certain people.
Neither rhyme nor reason to it, it just simply is. I have to stop myself in the pub waxing on and on about the people I wouldn't have in the flat, purely because I don't like the way they sneeze, the way they taaaalk verrrry verrrry slowly or the fact that they're, like, just SUPER every day of the week.
Take the office last night, take me and one other lad a few rows down pulling our respective late shifts. I've never spoken to this boy but I've witnessed his drawl in conversation with others. He's a smile-talker. He talks through a perma-fucking-grin, even when he's being serious, nails on a blackboard.
What was his sin on this most unnoteworthy of Monday nights? He called me 'man.'
Leaving before me, he walked past, a simple 'see ya, man.'
I lifted my head from the keyboard, forehead indented by the qwerty, cocked my head with the anger of a thousand blazing Samuel L Jacksons, fixed him a look and asked...
"...the fuck you say?"
"Eh, just saying g'luck, man."
"...the fuck you calling me 'man' for? You know my fucking name?"
"Eh... Yeah... I..."
"Just get the fuck out and wipe that fucking smirk off your face..."
This is, quite obviously, a falsehood. I spake a timid "safe home" because, well, he'd take me in a fight. Mine is a silent rage.