Remember this post? Yeah, I’m still angry.
I still don’t get why in this day and age I need to tolerate people that I don’t like nor want to tolerate. Why do I have to be nice to people if I don’t want to? Why can’t I dislike someone just for the fact that they rub me the wrong way or I just don’t LIKE THEM.
They call this intolerance. So that’s what I am. I’m an intolerant person. If you’
re in my life, you’re there. I tolerate you. I like you. Hell, I might even love you.
My personal life has a societal heirarchy. It may not seem like it does, but it does. Is that so wrong? Am I a bad person because of it?
I love my family, I love my friends. I tolerate strangers and I also tolerate people I work with (though I love some of them too). I tolerate the bus driver who lurches the bus making me almost fall to my ass.
We don’t have to like every person we come in contact with. In fact if you do, you’re crazy. I’m not that crazy one, YOU ARE.
I tolerate the clerks at Tim Horton’s when they take 10 minutes to make a small coffee. I tolerate my Mother and my Father (whom I love dearly).
Don’t think any of this makes me crazy, I think it makes me honest.
I mean look, I tolerated these people (from Germany). At the Hollow Tree in Stanley Park.