Off-Topic: Yeah, Bro

What you are about to read is 100 percent true. It is a horrifying tale of what my life has become, making me all the more pissed that some asshole in California won the Mega Millions and not myself.

Scene: The elevator in my office building; my company is on the top floor.

Harmlessly, I enter the elevator all by my lonesome, pressing the button feverishly for the doors to close so I can make it all the way uninterrupted. No such luck, because the kind people that designed these elevators make sure those fuckers stay open FOREVER on the lobby floor.

In enter two late 20 or early 30 young men, both wearing golf shirts and khakis. As they enter and the door begins to close, this conversation ensues:

Toolbag: Bro, I've been tweaking with my driving stance, bro. (mimics his golf swing, points out stance)

Douchebag: Cool, bro.

Toobag: Yeah, bro, I think I need to move my back foot back more and line my club up there, bro. (mimics stance again)

Douchebag: Totally, bro. You're supposed to line it up like this bro, near your back heel. (mimic his stance)

Toolbag Yeah, bro, I went out yesterday …

Their floor finally, mercifully comes and they get off.

I proceed to go back to my office, feeling infinitely dumber for having heard such an inane, stupefying conversation. I'm surprised my head just didn't explode right there, bro.

Sometimes, I really hate my life. Bro.