Misanthropy can be fun

I love humanity as a concept. It’s individual human beings that I can’t stand.

I won’t take credit for coming up with this as an original thought, assuming misanthropy is something you’d want to take credit for, but I can definitely echo the feeling. I have just enough Sixties vibes left in my soul to believe somewhere deep down that everybody’s beautiful, in their own way. Though it’s also important to point out this wasn’t sung by Bob Dylan or the Beatles but instead by novelty goofball Ray Stevens, who also claimed that streakers were “just as proud as they can be of their anatomy” and suggested that we give Gui-Tarzan “a hand”.

Certainly it’s not all human beings that I dislike. I love my wife and son dearly, and also care quite a bit for my parents, my sister and her family, and most in-laws. I have a small group of friends that I like, mostly from work and from the distant past, and there are a number of people in the public eye that I admire and respect. I’m also quite fond of our cats, though I guess they don’t qualify as “anthropes”. But 99.9999999999999% of the world I really just don’t care for as individuals.

I don’t think I can attribute this outlook to anything sociopathic. I’m certainly not about to go on some random spree of senseless (or even sensible) violence, which would be way more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t actively hate people that I don’t know. I’m just indifferent, and it’s bothersome when they encroach on that indifference by coming within 50 feet of me.

I think this comes largely from my upbringing. My mother was from a big family that was constantly infighting, so she and my dad decided to leave all that behind after they married and moved 1300 miles from Pennsylvania to Miami. There I could grow up peacefully with just them, my sister and an uncle. We weren’t the types to end every phone call with a needy “I love you”, like so many people seem to be doing these days. (I imagine annoyed spouses on the other end of these calls responding with a sigh and a “same here”, and checking caller ID before they answer the phone again five minutes later when they’re asked “How about now? Still love me?”). We’d see all the aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins once a year on summer vacation, when I could yearn theoretically for the warmth of a large family.

I say all this in preface to the hateful exercise I’m about to undertake. I’m sitting here in Panera this morning, watching a steady stream of patrons come and go. While I imagine that most if not all are upright citizens who have every reason to be loved and appreciated, it’s not going to be me who’s doing it.

Like this twosome that just came in: a guy in his late forties and a much older man. After they order, the younger guy says to the elder, “Where would you like to sit, young man?” I hate, hate, hate that patronizing tone that we older folks get from our age-impaired counterparts. And that phrase – “young man” or “young woman” applied to someone who’s obviously ancient – is just throwing your pathetic condition in your face.

And this guy who just walked in with his precious “Salty Dog” t-shirt and his backpack. We never had backpacks to carry our schoolbooks when I was a kid. The boys carried them on their hip and the girls clutched them to their chests, and that’s as it should be.

And this young Asian guy who just set up his laptop next to me. He plugged into the same outlet I’m using without even asking. Let’s see what he has up on his screen: he’s instant-messaging someone while reading a PDF in the background. We’re all very impressed by your multi-tasking skills.

And the aging hippie type who was already set up here in the corner when I arrived. He just left his laptop and cell phone at the table while he walked off to the restroom. The nerve of someone trusting today’s population not to steal his valuables while he’s stepped away for two minutes. If it’s swiped, that’s just higher insurance for me (just a second, let me go check if it’s the kind of Mac I’ve been yearning to get).

And the older lady who just put a clutch of used newspapers into the recycle rack next to the trash. It’s two local newspapers I already subscribe to, not the USA Today or New York Times I was hoping to pick up for free while I was here. How come people in the South are so provincial and care so little about what’s going on in the rest of the world?

Now there’s an older man and a younger woman, both dressed in business attire. They were already here, but he decided to leave while she’s raiding the free bagel samples. You know you’re supposed to use the tongs to pick those up, don’t you? Does it look to you like the rest of us want your germs?

Here’s a thirty-something guy who looks like a laid-off banker or something, scruffy and wearing those ridiculous cargo pants that go down below your knee and have all these unnecessary pockets. How in good conscience can he be wasting pockets like that when there are kids in the Third World that have no place to stash their change, IDs and iPods? We need to be donating pockets, not hoarding them.

And these two very short women, probably mother and daughter judging by their similar stature. I can’t really see anything offensive about either one of them, and it really ticks me off. No, wait – the younger one just propped her sunglasses above her forehead. She thinks she’s so cool.

Oh, and check out the young black guy wearing a black t-shirt and black pants, and a Blu-Tooth thing attached to his ear. Glad to see you young people making bulky electronic earpieces so fashionable. By the time I need one, I’ll be able to wear my hearing aid dangling jauntily from the side of my head.

And these two women dressed in the uniforms of healthcare providers. One of them just had her cell phone go off playing some song I’ve never heard before. Sounds like one of those latter-day R&B acts that are so inexplicably popular. What’s wrong with Ray Stevens?

Now here’s a group that’s taken over an entire table and seems to be talking politics. Surprising for this area of the South, it sounds like they’re talking liberal politics, about the origins of the word “redneck” and laughing at a pet magazine that has the headline “Dog is my copilot”. They’re all about my age and ideological temperament, and are even eating some of the same baked goods I enjoy here at Panera. But they’re all getting along rather than be antagonistic toward their fellow man. What a bunch of jerks.

Maybe it’s time to go. I seem to be in a bad mood today.