The Girl at the Bus Stop

I harbor a secret but intense dislike for the girl who rides the bus downtown with me each morning. Her name is Jenny. Jenny. I hate her because she's one of those people who smiles and acts friendly, always pretending to look for "common ground," while simultaneously broadcasting with her eyes and tone of voice that she feels she was born better than about 99% of the people she expects to encounter on a daily basis. Especially me. And the worst part? She's nosy. Not only do I not want to answer her questions regarding my life, nor do I care to hear the information she offers me about hers; I also know that she doesn't care what my answers will be, which makes doubly annoying the fact that she asks in the first place. She may feel as though she's being generous in condescending to speak with me, but personally, I think she's a bitch. I dislike her so much that I've toyed with the idea of taking a different bus to work in order to avoid interacting with her. But sadly, that would require waking up half an hour earlier, and I seldom get enough sleep as it is. I wish I weren't so afraid of confrontation and had the balls to tell her to go fuck herself.