“I Never Bother With People I Hate That’s Why The Lady Is A Tramp”

The latest additions to the list:

The old, cranky bastard who bumped me as he stepped in front of me and then had the gall to gasp in outrage, mumble something incoherently and look at me like I was an insolent child for disturbing his personal space.

The loud, suburban but-because-she-lives-close-to-the-city-thinks-she’s-a-New Yorker woman who demanded to know if the seat next to mine was taken or if the bag and jacket there (in addition to the ones I clearly wore and held in my lap) was just “[my] stuff”.

The strange, strange man on the bus who clipped his hands free earpiece to the left arm of his eyeglasses and then pulled the chord and microphone tight against his face above his lip as he put the ear bud in his right ear. I don’t hate him per se, but he totally freaked me out so I’m puttin’ him on the list.

Carson Daly (actually, long time standing)