Uncle Sam

It seemed that Sam had an attitude problem, but that wasn't Sam's problem; no, that was the problem of all the ingrates and losers who constantly made Sam's life a living hell. If Sam's misanthropic tendencies were allowed to play out, furthermore, this wouldn't have even been an issue. However, and alas, this was not to be the case. Sam was forced to share his day to day existence with whom he so lovingly referred to as "the scum of the Earth." Sam, it must be pointed out, was not what one would call "a people person."

Sam was, however, a "Sam person." Oh, Sam was a big fan of Sam. It was rare that Sam could ever get enough of Sam, and on those infrequent occasions when he got a bit bored with himself, he'd think of "the scum of the Earth" and a smug expression would wash over his face. Did I mention that Sam wasn't a People Person? Anyway, to continue:

One evening, after Sam had just finished admiring his check book balance and had reread all the cloying inscriptions written to his ten-year-ago self in his old high school senior yearbook, the phone rang. Sam, it must be pointed out, was not a fan of the phone, as it required a bit too much interaction with "the scum of the Earth" for his tastes. Social norms, unfortunately, dictated that he own such an instrument, and Sam was nothing if not a creature of social norms (at least since the advent of caller ID).

Sam looked at the phone display and noticed that it was yet again "Unavailable" phoning him, and oh how he hated Unavailable. He wasn't too thrilled with people he knew, remember, so Unavailable? Unavailable was "the scum of the Earth's" handmaiden. So he hesitated.

The phone kept ringing, using that annoying electronic tone that Sam was sure the Motorola corporation had invented just to annoy one person: Sam.

ring ring ring.

Finally Sam succumbed.

"Yes?!", he practically spat into the mouthpiece.

The other side was silent for a beat or two, just long enough for what passed for Sam's patience to be tested and broken into a thousand little pieces of misanthropic shards.

"WELL?!", Sam (impatiently) barked.

"Uh... Reverend Philips? Is that you? I just wanted to tell you that the new hymnals have arrived."

"Great," Reverend Sam Philips intoned as he made a sarcastic smile at the phone handset before hanging it up so forcibly that his "World's Greatest Uncle" coffee cup fell from the nearby shelf and shattered into a thousand little pieces.

Sam always hated that coffee cup.