There I was, at a local café, waiting in line to place my order. The little building was brimming with young people, clad in the colors of the city's university; they eyed their phones and chatted amongst themselves in groups. They all wore masks.
I noticed them staring at me from time to time, and caught their disapproval. You see, I refuse to wear masks: I value freedom far too much, and do not desire to breathe life into liberal conspiracies. Their scorn was palpable, and it doesn't shame me to say that I clutched the heavy crucifix that I always wear around my neck. I found little comfort in Jesus, however; all of the hateful eyes upon me was harrowing to the extreme.
I heard voices. It came from the seating area to my left. "What a moron. I wonder why he's allowed in here without a mask? Someone should punch him." Laughter followed—cruel, malicious laughter. "I know, right? What an inconsiderate jerk," said another person in the group.
My blood boiled. I nearly broke the crucifix that I clutched. I inhaled deeply and let out a lengthy hiss, and then strode over to where the young people sat.
"EXCUSE ME," I roared. "I am incredibly offended by your ignorance and cruelty. I don't think you should stay here. Your evil makes you a far more troublesome guest than I."
The kids stared at me, dumbfounded by my righteous fury. I growled and grunted, stamped my feet and slapped at their table. It was then I noticed that one of the youths wore a Black Lives Matter mask. I gave a long screech that brought the entire café to a standstill. I'd reached a new summit of offense and outrage, and these hateful creatures would feel my wrath. "BLUE LIVES? BLUE LIVES! AAAAAAH!"
I felt a hand rest upon my shoulder. Some of the foam dripping from my mouth fell to the tiled floor as I growled again, and violently shook my head. "WHO DARES?"
A woman stood beside me. She was young, too, and well-kempt. From her expression and stance, I could discern that she was an enemy. "Excuse me, sir," she said. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Manager!" I bellowed, hurt beyond belief at how I was being persecuted.
"I am the manager," said the woman. "Leave immediately before I call the cops. This is the fifth time this week. And it's only Wednesday."
My heart ached. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I walked out of the store.
So, when was the last time you were offended, dear reader? Possibly, you were greatly offended by something that happened on this very forum?