Ellemental

After two random conversations with two different people about the use of the phrase “my people” this weekend, I’ve decided it’s a sign – I need to find My People.

They’re out there, I’m sure. Before I find them, though, I guess I need to figure out what makes My People My People.

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Ok, maybe it’ll be easier deciding who AREN’T My People:

• Throwers of cigarette butts out of moving vehicles. Not My People.
• People who are rude to overworked, underpaid store clerks who are obviously doing the best job they can. Not My People.
• Enjoyers of Brittney Spears. Really REALLY not my people.
• Leavers of empty coffee pots on hot burners at work. Not My People either.
• Work bathroom poopers who for some reason believe that the rest of the workforce prefers the smell of poop to the smell of the HANDY AIR FRESHENER THAT IS SITTING IN A CAN RIGHT BEHIND THEM. Not My People.
• Reverse-snobs (“I’m a better person than you because I suffer daily and you don’t. I have so much less than everyone else. Woe is me. Pity me! Woe, oh WOE IS ME.“) Not only not My People, but when My People find Your People, we’re gonna kick your ass.