There's No Pleasing The Entitled Generation

Thanks to blog buddy Kathy for giving a proper name to the young whippersnappers who plague my existence. The ones who pull the convenience-store door shut behind them, rather than holding it open for an old lady, or at least let it close naturally. The ones who walk or drive into the path of an actively-backing vehicle. The ones who pass on a bridge, and nearly collide head-on with Mrs. HM in her rightful lane.

Tuesday afternoon, I was returning from town. I came down the hill toward the main low-water bridge at the same time a small maroon pickup truck was approaching it from the other side. I had plenty of room at the bottom of my hill. The roadway before the bridge itself has room for three cars to drive abreast. So I stopped, to allow that truck to cross first. The road on the other side is barely wide enough for two vehicles, without one getting tires off the pavement, where there's a considerable drop-off.

The small maroon pickup truck had slowed, and was about to stop. The bridge itself might be wide enough for two cars to pass, but there are no sides. It's not like the high long bridge on the lettered highway, with its concrete walls, where that passer had almost killed Mrs. HM.

Seeing that I had stopped and was allowing him to cross the bridge, did the driver of that small maroon pickup truck feel any gratitude? I'm saying no. I base my opinion on the fact that the driver of that small maroon pickup truck stomped the accelerator, and flew over the bridge, engine roaring, and passed me with not only no thank-you wave of a couple fingers on the steering wheel, but a SCOWL upon his face!

Well, EXCUUUUUUSE ME!!!

How dare I stop and allow him to cross before I did! Shame on me! How dare I not get there a few seconds later, so he did not have to brake.

People are rumpusholes. Especially the Entitled Generation.