On Superiority

This brunette sitting across from me in this restaurant with her equally attractive German man.

How are they not better, objectively better human beings than you and I?

Dressed to the upper extent of class and simplicity. Sitting around with perfect posture. Not tense, not slouching. Just right, and effortless. Absolutely delightful.

Hair silky and rich like a shampoo commercial. Both of them. So much volume and a nice shine.

Her only sin was that she had no smile to spare. And His only sin is not having touched his sangria. The Germans are known to enjoy the look of cocktails on a vacation more than actually drinking them. They reserve their appetite for beer back home.

They reminded me of what I didn't like about Germany. It was full of these perfect specimens of the human condition. People with physical gifts matched with refinement in taste and temper.

It doesn't escape me that perfect as they look, we can all safely assume that, all things considered, they're no better than this writer or this reader. There's no doubt that they are both almost as dull, dim, and cruel as you and I.

She, for all her qualities, is probably just as lost and tormented. Probably not as kind as her perfect face suggests. She's probably no angel. With a face like that, she doesn't have to be so she probably never learned it.

Just as I wrote that, not even a minute after, an old man dropped a bunch of coins. Nobody volunteered to help, including this dull, dim and cruel writer.

Guess who found her smile and sprung up to help?

Guess who helped as all further our understanding of what perfect is.

How are these people not objectively superior to everyone you ever met in your life?