I’m one.

I’m sure of it.

Two days ago, I was on the edge of the city where the #1 Highway exits to the East.  A young guy was there, backpack on, with a sign that read, “Traveling.  Broke and Hungry.”  My eye didn’t even register the rest of the words into my head–I’ve seen this sign before.  Mentally, I saw myself with a sheet of cardboard and a Sharpie.  My sign read, “Staying home with my job.  Feeling fine.  Make any sense?”

Like I said–jerk.

Then yesterday, our phone rang around 6 PM.  Prime time for the telemarketers, it seems.  The area code didn’t look as threatening as usual.  I picked up.  Brief silent moment.  Unfamiliar voice asking to speak to someone with my father’s name.  “Yeah, just a minute,” I said, as I took the phone from my ear and hung it up.

J-E-R-K.

And not feeling as badly about it as I probably should.