Do you know who I am?

The following by Eileen McAvoy Boylen, a freelance writer, from today's Boston Globe will resonate with a lot of us.

IT SEEMS every celebrity in a holding cell lately plays the "Do you know who I am?" card. Except, of course, former state senator James Marzilli, who knew he was somebody else when he gave police a fake name. But, for every spoiled celebrity brat, there are 10 "civilians" with the same entitled attitude. People who give new meaning to "DYKWIA" syndrome.

It's like an Obama rally at the check-out register and 50 shoppers and one cashier stand between you and your sanity. To be perverse, you start to chant "Yes we can't!" just to pass the time. It seems like three seasons of "America's Got Talent" (and, by the way, it doesn't) before a new cashier appears and says, "I can take the next person in line." You realize you've misplaced your Taser gun as the last person in line sprints for the open register faster than FOX-News chasing Chuck Turner. Clearly, his time is more important than yours. You just didn't know who he was.

You're enjoying a romantic dinner at an upscale eatery when they arrive. Just because their nanny, chef, and sommelier have the night off, why shouldn't they savor a Kobe filet and vat of Chateau Lafite with the little "crumb catchers" in tow? Before you can recommend the funnel cake to your partner, the children start squealing, toppling trays and whacking waitresses with the abandon of Tony Soprano. Is it the parents' fault Abe and Louis's doesn't stock "le petit crayons?" Surely, they can't stay home. If only you knew who they were.

After circling the Back Bay for most of the winter, you finally spot someone returning to her vehicle. You pull up behind her with a friendly wave and flash your directional. That's when the driver dials up "Beauty 911" and attempts an "Ambush Makeover" in the rear-view mirror. Oh, were you waiting? By the time she's finished, even she doesn't know who she is.

It's bad enough being held up by gas prices. It's worse when a member of "Beef Jerky Anonymous" abandons his Mercedes at the pump to get his fix inside. Apparently the world-class wheels of a high-quality German-engineered vehicle can't navigate those tight spaces near the door. (However, if one were so inclined, the tires do deflate pretty handily.)

Worst of all is when people think "handicapped" refers to intelligence and park in spaces meant for those with limited mobility. But, face it. Some people are just more important than you are.

A perfect summer day on Cape Cod. You're enjoying a near-empty beach where miles of white sand separate you from the nearest person. Until some moron who thinks it's overpopulated like China plunks her ample behind between you and the water, blocking your previously unobstructed view with a beach tent and boom box the size of Home Depot. (And you wish it were China because she'd only have one child instead of the four shrieking hooligans now inhabiting your little ecosphere.) But, if you knew who she was, you wouldn't expect her to schlep another 10 yards to pitch camp. Heaven forbid.

Those of us without servants clean up after our dogs. But, many sidewalks and public parks look, and smell, like, well, poop. There are a variety of clever devices out there, one to suit even the most discerning little "scooper." But, truly entitled dog owners believe "Rover rooting" is beneath them. So, it's beneath everyone else instead.

Perhaps the most pervasive manifestation of "DYKWIA syndrome" is cellphone usage. While waiting at the dentist, are you really so important that you must answer immediately? In the 30 seconds required to step outside, would you halt air traffic or lose your place on the heart-transplant list?

What do you get when you cross an inconsiderate driver with an inconsiderate cellphone user? You get the worst manifestation of DYKWIA syndrome known to mankind: a call so important, the driver can't even wave when you let them go first.

Do you know who you are?