Who: The guy at the convenience store who thinks it’s funny to say “A hundred and eighty-five dollars!” when it’s really only one dollar and eighty-five cents.
Why: It’s not funny. Not even remotely. Yet he thinks it’s freakin’ hilarious. Otherwise why would he risk fraud charges by giving me, a complete stranger, false information regarding the purchase price? Plus he’s not just one guy but multiple humor-impaired yokels who work cash registers at a myriad of 7-11 type stores across the land – not because it was a career choice and he thought it best to eschew his astronomy degree for a life in a sub par customer service field dispensing gasoline, alcohol and lottery tickets to the unwashed but because his high school guidance counselor made it quite clear that his future involved either smocks, hairnets and grease or panhandling and he chooses to deal with the utter ennui, desperation and futility with what he erroneously perceives to be a clever joke.
How I justify it: Hate is easier than contempt. (I’m not proud; just honest.)