Occasionally there are times when I wish other people didn't exist:
1) When I walk onto a crowded Amtrak train and realize my only seat options are either next to the blubbery businessman stuffing a muffin into his mouth as the crumbs fall onto the floor or the waifish 25-year-old female with chapped lips blabbing away into her cell phone as she flips through old issues of Glamour and Vogue.
2) When I am at a concert which features one of those new-fangled gimmicks in which you can text a message to a certain 5-digit number in hopes that it will appear on the Jumboscreen for all to see. Embarrassingly enough, I have been silly enough to craft and send a witty little message at both concerts I attended with such an option - but in neither case did my message make it to screen. Instead, the screen was an endless rotation of drivel: "TONYA U R MY SUNSHYNE," "GIRLZ FROM MIDTOWN ARE HOTTT" or "RED SOX UP 8-7." So frustrating.
3) When I enter the gym and on one treadmill is the girl who declined my Facebook friendship freshman year and on the rowing machine is the guy I e-mailed last week about getting notes from seminar who never e-mailed me back.