I walked behind a dude in the gym who was rocking tattooed sleeves that looked rad. I thought, “I’m going to tell him that I dig his ink.”

There are two doors, separated by a short hallway, that lead to the men’s locker room. He opened the first door and did not hold it for me, though I was only a few steps behind him. And he did the same for the second door. What the fuck, man?

I said to myself, “Dude’s tattoos are solid, but his common courtesy is bogus.”