Counter

I once was waiting to order at a pizzeria with a very long counter. The place was empty. I was there with my ex-girlfriend.

A guy came in and stood at the counter next to me. He was wearing a leather jacket, and he was going bald. There was a ton of space, but he kept bumping into me. I finally said something.

“Hey,” I asked, “do you have to keep touching me?”

My ex-girlfriend grabbed my arm and told me to calm down.

“I am calm,” I said. “I just want this guy to stop touching me.”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” she asked.

“This motherfucker has ten feet to either side of him but still keeps bumping into me, and I’m the asshole? Why don’t you tell him to stop being an asshole?”

As it turns out, they were both assholes.