The Rules Don't Apply to Me

I could give you comprehensive reasons but you couldn’t possibly understand them. Take my word for it: the rules don’t apply to me.

Rules and social norms are for other people, the hoi polloi, the great unwashed. I scoff. I scoff and I sniff at them. Here is how I will behave.

Since I drive a BMW, my stop signs aren’t really stop signs, so when we get to a four-way intersection, I’m going to give just the barest butterfly tap on my brakes and barrel through the intersection, even though you clearly got to the stop sign first, since I drive a BMW.

I’m in group 8 to board the plane, but I’m going to push my way into group 5 to board with people who were on top of things enough to check in early, rather than doing everything at the last minute and then rush around, disheveled and panicked, acting as if it’s everyone else’s responsibility to accommodate them, like I do. Oh, and I’m also going to stash my ukulele and golf clubs overhead and refuse to check either one.

We’re just going to push these three tables together here without asking and upset the careful order that the wait staff has organized, and we’re also going to substitute every menu item for another menu item and we’ll also all need separate checks.

Space is at a premium here but I need a separate chair to put my bag on so even if you’re exhausted and need somewhere to sit, don’t even think about taking that chair because that’s the bag’s chair.

I’m just not paying taxes because the collective interest only exists when it benefits me, and here is a crappy, toddler-drawn Gadsden flag and some magical thinking about gold fringes on American flags to rebut any counterargument. 

My text to my friend, an RSVP to a BBQ a month from now, really can’t wait, so I’ll do it while negotiating this curve at 65 mph in the rain, since when they say texting while driving is dangerous, they’re obviously not talking about me.

Please make a note of the preceding.