I could not care less about the personal issues of complete strangers.

The other day I was seated in a local coffeehouse that shall remain nameless, mainly because I don’t want the Post to be sued for slander.

I’ll level with you, I hate the place, I was only there due to desperation for coffee and cigarettes while I studied, and I hate the people who frequent it.

Why? Mainly because of the idiot who was in there Monday who felt the need to constantly yell into another room while good little students were trying to study in the majority of that place.

You may know him; in fact you may even be him: the loud, obnoxious moron who is convinced that the rest of the world cares about every single thought that passes through his gray matter. He did in fact yell at the baristo to change the music from Christmas music to the Dead Kennedys. All I need: more distractions to keep me from passing a class.

I have been exposed to more comments that I would rather not have heard (“I think I gave you Chlamydia”) in coffeehouses, at bus stops and retail stores than I care to dwell on. And I blame cell phones for this just as much as the Bloated American Ego Syndrome.

First, yes, I own a cell phone. Yes, I use it in public, since that is after all its purpose. No, I do not yell into it because I want the world to know how trashed I was last Saturday.

This has nothing to do with my being a prude (though I can be); this has to do with the fact that I could not care less about the personal issues of complete strangers.

I do not know the Lenina on the bus stop who is yelling about her lackluster night with Bernard, and regardless of how good she may look, I don’t want to know about the details of her night. What is so important about any party or horrific sexual encounter that can’t wait until you aren’t around complete strangers? And if you can’t keep it contained, at least lower your voice.

As Americans, we crave instant gratification. We can spend hours on a cell phone talking and still be surprised when we get the bill. And as long as we are on the topic of noise pollution, let’s talk about that new sound system that some fleeting moment of stupidity prompted you to pay thousands of dollars to get installed in your car. The laws of probability dictate that at any given bus stop with more than ten people at it, three will like the song that you are blasting. You have just spent thousands of dollars to show the world just how inconsiderate and self-absorbed you are. Congratulations, you are a.) a complete and utter jerk, or b.) a moron.

I don’t like to make apologies for what I say or do, I’m well aware that my views are bound to offend someone who reads them. To the people who are offended I would like to request that you get over yourselves, you’re probably offended because I’ve touched a nerve.

Your car stereo should not make everyone standing within 10 feet of it deaf, and as you are not a celebrity (personally I find celeb-cults disgusting, more on that later), complete strangers do not care about what you are broadcasting in public. Stop crying, it’s okay, just try turning down the volume a little bit.

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