When I look out of my window, I can see a lollipop person… as in, someone who holds a giant lollipop to help children across the road.

I hate lollipop people. I’m sure they’re very nice people. But I hate them. Why do they have to help me across the road!? I’m a 34 year old man, for goodness sake!

And why is it called a lollipop? I’ve never seen anyone licking it.

Sure, perhaps they lick it in private. Maybe that’s part of the lollipop person’s morning ritual:

1. Get up
2. Make yourself a coffee
3. Brush your teeth
4. Get dressed
5. Lick your lollipop, giving you The Ancient Powers of the Mystic Lollipop — embuing you with the sacred ability to help people to cross the road.

Though really, they should have brushed their teeth after licking the lollipop. Not great for your teeth otherwise.

I resent having to smile at lollipop people when they "help" me across the road.

Any human interaction is difficult for me. Why do I have to waste some of my carefully-stored human-interaction energy just to nod and smile at a person holding a giant stick?

The rest of the day, I cross the road alone.

I run out into the traffic, having not looked properly before I crossed. Cars beep their horns and I am almost run over.

Do I need a lollipop person? No!

If I want to risk my life by not looking properly, that’s my choice.

I don’t need someone in a yellow raincoat to tell me how to cross the road.

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