BEASTLY TALES

THE “ME FIRST” SYNDROME

Driving along on a summer’s day,
Thoughts of a negative nature shouldn’t prey.
But much sooner than later along comes a clod.
That well fits the mould of a “me first” sod.
There are just so many that get up noses,
Just too stupid to “stop to smell the roses”,
For them, every day of their miserable life
Is tight packed with trouble and strife.
They roar up close behind you, on the road,
And tail gate you closely in an effort to goad,
You into increasing your speed over the limit,
Or perhaps, to conveniently disappear, the dimwit.
Always gesticulating with gestures of hate,
Perhaps they truly believe they are late.

Walking along a lunch-hour city street,
Ant-people, for rudeness, are hard to beat.
What right do you have to be in the way?
Especially if you happen to be old and grey.
Queuing up at a crowded delicatessen,
Queue jumpers always seem to be messing,
With the strict, fair order of things
In order to exercise their “me first” stings.
At the theatre, or stadium for sports,
There are always pushy people, out of sorts,
Historically speaking, when a ship goes down,
There was often a scramble, not to drown.
If in a building, on a floor up higher,
One could note the confusion at the shout of “Fire!”
Some supermarkets have a system of “take a number”,
You peel off a ticket to avoid a queue jumping blunder.
Banks often employ a system of stanchions and ropes.
Designed to stave off queue jumper hopes.

Do you suppose, even at a guillotine,
People might politely say, “You First”, to a French Queen.
Always with the pushing and shoving,
Rarely with behaviour temperate and loving.
These “Me-Firsters” consider it their right,
To rudely push into a queue with their might.
One’s philosophy could well be, “do your worst”,
But get out of my way because it is “Me First!”