After Lewis Black read my sex ed rant, I reached out to him to help me with a bigger problem:

“Lewis,

I desperately need your help to overcome my midwestern upbringing — you know where the ultimate goal is to be a “nice guy.”

Nice guys don’t lose it in public over petty things, but if I keep holding this shit in, my heart is going to explode.

On my way into a restaurant for lunch today, this millennial is walking fast behind me talking on his phone with one of those douchebag updates they all give. “I’m just walking into the Blue Willow.” I’m surprised he wasn’t Facebooking that piece of breaking news.

I slowly open the door to let an elderly couple exit the building. They looked like “American Gothic” portrait 40 years later. They had given up the pitchfork for a cane. The gentleman was holding onto the other side of the door to keep his balance, and the woman was leaning on her trident and inching her way out the door.

This little 30-something has his phone to his ear, and he’s wearing his baseball cap backward like he’s still in the 7th grade. He’s got some fucking obnoxious t-shirt with graffiti like letters I don’t recognize. It could be a shitty rock band or a fucking marketing firm – I can’t tell the difference.

At first I thought someone had covered part of his face with a dried out black magic marker until I realized it was an attempt at a black goatee — like he is Satan himself or something.

He cuts over to the left, around the “Gothic” couple, and slips through the back side of the door to get to the hostess first and get the table ahead of us.

“Thanks,” he says…. as he sneaks ahead in line.

I said…. wait for it… “You’re welcome.”

Help me Lew. My life is in your hands…”