Don’t Judge

I have to constantly slap myself in the face mentally to keep from judging people. Don’t judge, I say on the TTC on my way to school. There are passengers screaming at each other, students whipping backpacks in my face, blasting music and crying babies and a woman who just brought the entirety of FreshCo on the bus. I have to remind myself it’s okay—some people are simply oblivious to the annoyance they cause others. I am constantly annoying people. It’s okay. The person three rows back who has claimed five seats with bags is totally justified. Don’t judge, I hiss in the bathroom during class. Vape smoke filters under the stall door, and I’m holding my breath and trying so hard to drown out the sound of students gossiping. What happened to using the bathroom for the sake of using the bathroom, is what I’m wondering, along with how I’m going to disguise the sound of excreting my waste so the people hogging the mirrors outside don’t give me weird looks. Also, of course, there’s no more toilet paper on the rolls. There’s plenty on the floors though, so I guess that’s fair. Don’t judge, I command while navigating through the hallways. What I don’t understand is how such a small student population can congregate and form a humongous, impenetrable mass of flesh. At this point, Trump could...

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