Be An Idiot Day!
After Mrs. Batiancilla's earlier debacle, I really thought I've reached my quota of dealing with idiots for the day, but this random fucking dude who was strongly against exercise can't stop yapping about his chronic illness caused by inflammation and muscle tightening around his airways, making the simple act of breathing difficult.
But yeah, I do understand how his disease works, and I do understand it'd be a lot more difficult for him to do what we were asking—but how many times would we go around in circles saying that I wasn't asking him to a run a marathon, just walk a few more steps a day and him telling me he has asthma over and over and over?
Once again, my insistence was making me sound like an asshole—and I sometimes am—but it wasn't like we were speaking in different languages.
"I said what's your name!"
"Clifford!"
"What?! The red dog?!"
"Hah?! I said, Clifford!"
"Your last name! You're Clifford-What?!"