In front of the hospital I spied a mindless commuter rag box and decided to grab a copy thinking there'd be a hefty wait ahead. While removing the display copy, a man approached, who I guessed to be a hospital employee, nosing around, he asked, "The last copy, eh?" I said, "Ya, I guess so." He proceeded to bend over and dig through the papers amassed at the bottom of the box. He got up and said, "Yup. That's the last copy."
Being confused as to why this man was all up in my space nosing around for a paper, wondering if this was just an odd attempt at conversation, I asked, "What, do you want it?" And he answered, "Yes." He proceeded to grab the paper from me, tuck it under his arm and join his colleagues who were clustered around some delivery van yucking it up. He didn't say, "Thanks", "Sucka!", nothing, just walked away like it was his ordained right to have that paper.
Argh. The waiting. The having to pretend not to stare at people on my commute because I had nothing to read. Avoiding the gaze of the obviously angry young woman across the aisle from me who was seemingly begging someone, anyone, to stare at her so she could deck them. And all I could do was attempt to read the commuter rag over the shoulder of the woman in front of me or stare at the dandruffy head of the girl next to her and ponder the coolest part of my day—taking home a contraption from the doctor's office which will allow me to squirt water up one nostril until it runs out the other.