Photos and Words of Patrick Calder

I live in Washington, DC with 1 cat named Pixel, 6 cameras, 3 computers, 158 movies, 286 books, and 1 bowling pin. I own the Design Foundry and pretend to be a graphic designer by day.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 3 years old. Opinions change. Tastes change. Everything changes. I may still agree with or like this, or I may not. But everything is kept up here for archival purposes.

Mother. / November 22, 2013

Dear lady with the cute baby in the stroller,

You may not know this, but muttering snarky comments under your breath as you walk away isn’t the best way to convey information.

If I caught your words correctly, I should point out that given how I was walking down a narrow aisle, towards an outward swinging door, which you were already in the process of opening, physics dictates that the only way I could have conceivably helped you instead of “standing there like a lazy fuck” would have been to either open the door into your face or expect you to back up and move out of my way while I exited, finally putting me in the only position where I could have actually held the door open.

But I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that you didn’t actually look at the situation. You instead just felt entitled to help from anyone and everyone around you. And you know what they say about feeling entitled. It makes an ass out of you.



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