I often wonder why it is that I am so polite. I'm not bragging. It's nothing special to be polite, or at least it shouldn't be. Politeness is supposed to be one of those things you take for granted. Unfortunately, it's the exception rather than the rule.

Tonight as I walked into Subway, I politely thought about how cool the woman's jacket in front of me was -- a shiny satin jacket with the Pancho Villa logo on the back. Then I got a little closer. And that was when I started to hate humanity.

"What kind of cheese do you want?" the sandwich artist asked. Now, I've personally seen this question throw many people into fits of confusion. There are only three types of cheese at Subway, but for some reason people get surprised that they have a choice. This woman responded to the question in the only way she saw fit. She pulled out her cell phone and called a friend.

OK, OK. The sandwich was for her friend. But you'd think that all of this would have been worked out beforehand, or at least that she would have improvised. She didn't. Even when the friend didn't answer. No, she left a message. And then she said, "Can you make my sandwich while we wait for my friend to call back?"

I wanted to get her name and address, wait for her to get pregnant and give birth, and then punch her newly born child in the face.

In retrospect, however, I realize that this is my fault. It is my fault and it is your fault. Confronted with this situation, we're supposed to say, "Excuse, me, but you have no idea how rude you're being right now." It's like that scene in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home where Spock gives that kid on the bus with the boombox the Vulcan Nerve Pinch and everyone applauds. Everyone's thinking the same thing, but nobody wants to act on it.

Instead, I just sucked it up and dealt with it. The sandwich artist did the same, because that's his job. Then he was extra nice to me, recognizing me as a regular.

The friend never did call back. When it became clear that she could not hold up the line any longer without being absolutely ridiculous, she finally decided (appropriately) on the white American.

In all, I wonder if my life is better for putting up with the douchebags of the world, or if I'd get more satisfaction out of confronting them. I've done both, and yet, I'm still not sure.