In shades

Maybe, if I didn't wear glasses, I wouldn't feel this way about people with shades.

I don't know. I think it's the fact that you can't really see their eyes. You can't get a read on them. Not that I'm watching strangers from afar and trying to figure out what they feel, but, well, you do need to have some idea of what they're thinking of to be able to make your way through interactions. Are they gleeful? Are they forlorn? Are they high? That sort of thing.

I can't wear shades. I have prescription glasses. I've had them since second grade. I've never had the privilege of wearing shades with the conviction of a man who just scored at... something. Life? Sex? Adrenaline? Never. I've been denied, from early in life, the privilege of adding a second zing to lifting my head high in cockiness.

Yes, I've always thought people wearing shades are cocky douchebags.

With apologies, of course, to my friends who do, and can, wear shades. We're still friends, right? But the moment you put those on, you turn into someone shiftier. And that's because I cannot read your thoughts properly. You're smiling at me, saying you liked that corny quip I thought was funny so much that I blurted it out in public. Maybe you're actually rolling your eyes, utmost sarcasm in tow - but no, all I see is black. And maybe my face reflecting off it. It's like, yeah, you're cool, for now. I'm too smug for this.

Yeah, that's it. They're too smug for this.

They're too smug for this, and here I am, my eyes in perfect view, unable to hide whether I feel disappointed or dejected or delighted. It's right there, if you choose to look.

Of course, there's such a thing as clip-on shades, especially for people with prescription glasses like me, but... no, I won't scratch these babies, no.

Earlier today I saw a couple waiting at my office building's elevator lobby. They're waiting for an elevator, which happens to be the very elevator I hailed. They're being cuddly, and that should be fine with me now, considering the monster that I've become in the past two years. Heck, their matching tops should also set me off, but no, I, too, am a monster now.

The problem was, the guy was wearing shades. Understandable, considering that it's really sunny and bright outside, and shades are really there to reduce the glare and enable one to make their way through intersections. Are there cars? Are there people? Are there potholes? That sort of thing.

All I saw was a cocky douchebag who's too smug for this. There he is, squeezing his girlfriend's hand and saying things I couldn't understand. They're all I can see. It was a relatively empty elevator lobby. There were two other people in my queue. There was this girl who just left one of the elevators. The worst part is, they'll be in the same elevator as me.

The lights blinked. The elevator doors opened. Five of us - me, the queue, the couple - went in.

We were all inside. I hit the close button.

The guy hit the open button, before dashing out of the elevator with his girl.

Turns out they were going on one of the lower floors. I was going on one the higher floors. The couple were in the wrong elevator, and if you think about it, they missed the right elevator. The girl I mentioned a few paragraphs ago? Lower floors. They didn't notice. He was too busy being smug.

I grinned a bit. My turn to be smug.

And your responses...

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