Normally I like kids. Really I do. And not in a weird, pedophile-ish way, either. They're just... they're fun.

The reason I can't find a better word to describe kids positively is because of the one directly behind me in this line. There are two things wrong with him – 1. He's wearing a really ugly plaid jacket. I've seen a lot of those jackets lately, actually, and I'm starting to wonder if they're a way for cult members to recognize each other or something. I mean, it's perfectly warm in here; there's no other reason to wear it! Well, I suppose there could be a few reasons aside from cult membership... but still. The Plaid Jacket Cult. I shudder.

The jacket, however, is a minor offense in comparison to the humming. Don't get me wrong, humming is great! I hum all the time! But of all the songs to hum, this kid has picked 'John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.' Wrong choice.

Okay, okay, no! Before you ask, no. I'm not some sort of serial killer of humming children. I just really really don't like that song. At all. Never have.

The name's John, by the way. John Schmidt.

My parents didn't realize when I was born that though John Lennon was a great guy and all, his name was hardly unique. (Then again, if they had, they probably would've named me Ringo.) Then my dad made the wonderful point that his brother Jacob had died in an accident the year before, and maybe they should name me after him as well. John Jacob it was.

If there'd been room for 'Jingleheimer' on the birth certificate, they probably would have found a reason to tack that on, too.

"Jooooohn Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt!" the jacketed kid belts out.

Yeah, yeah, I know.
His name is my name, too.