People are douchebags. Well, I suppose that some aren’t, but most of those who aren’t probably are assholes. The difference is slight, douchebags are assholes who are abolivious to their own assholity and their ignorance of their own nature is the worst thing about them because they don’t know how to turn it on and off. I’m definitely an asshole for writing this, but at least I know it.

“What do you mean the plane is delayed? My meeting sure as hell isn’t!”

I am awakened from my airport nap to the sound of angry douchebaggery coming from a late-thirties business man. I immediately regret my decision to have chosen a seat near the customer service desk. He grimaces and looks at his watch despite the presence of a large digital clock only a few feet in front of him. The watch looks expensive.

“Well I imagine that your meeting was not held up for de-icing in ,” the young woman at the help desk replies in her friendly, practiced tone.

“Damn, she’s good,” I think, admiring her willingness to be a sarcastic asshole in the face of a grade A douchebag. “Gotta fight fire with fire.”

“Well do you know how long it will be?” the businessman asks, presuming her omniscience.

He wears a black suit with grey pinstripes. I saw a discovery channel special on zebras that said they use their stripes to blend into the heard and confuse predators. I wonder if the businessman, whose name is probably , which is such a douchebag name, uses his pinstripes to blend in with other Chads so that if they cluster in a cubicle management has trouble figuring out who to “downsize”.

“There will certainly be an announcement as soon as we receive any more information. I apologize, but regrettably I am not psychic,” she replies.

tells her “thank you”, but clearly doesn’t mean it. I don’t imagine he has recently even felt the sensation of appreciation. It was probably long ago replaced in his psyche with the feeling of entitlement.

“G, hey buddy, it’s C here,” he speaks into his cell phone loudly enough to be overheard by the woman at the desk. I’m sure it is no accident. Shortening names to letters is such a douchebag move. He probably calls himself “The Chadster” when he wins in racquetball. “Flight’s been delayed… yeah, Southwest… huh, go figure… what’s that?… Wal-Mart airlines, that’s fuckin’ classic, I gotta remember that, Wal-Mart Aire… yeah, I’ll see you in Diego if this crop duster doesn’t go down en route.”

Ugh. Calling “Diego” is so douchebaggy. The businessman walks away smugly, probably thinking to himself “score one for ‘The Chadmeister’.”

I hoist my bag and approach the customer service desk. The attendant looks at me. She looks like she just ate something that she later found out to be made from bugs.

“Can I help you?”

“No, I’m good, just waiting for my flight. I just wanted to say your honey roasted peanuts are awesome.”

She laughs. No one can get along with douchebags, but two assholes can always find common ground in disdaining them.