Bench hog

I was at my local neighborhood nation's largest chain retailer of books tonight, looking for some self-help material to deal with my latest calamitous bout with anxiety or depression or whatever it is I have (seriously, if anybody knows what it's called when you say really mean and terrible things to yourself internally over and over and over again until you reduce yourself to a crippled lump of raw nerves incapable of doing much more than lying in bed, let me know, because my efforts to figure it out have been fruitless so far) and I visited the magazine rack.
The management at the local neighborhood nation's largest chain retailer of books have thoughtfully provided benches in this area for people to sit on and peruse books and magazines, which is very thoughtful of them, considering I'll bet a lot of those people have no intention of paying for what they're reading. It was while I was reading an interview with Tina Fey in Esquire magazine that I had no intention of paying for that I noticed a guy on one of these benches. He was straddling it in the middle, leaning over and reading one magazine with a stack of others sitting on the bench behind him. Now, most of us who have ever participated in team sports at any level know how to sit on a bench correctly (it's okay, admit it).These particular benches could easily accommodate three asses quite comfortably, sitting correctly and reading something, but this guy decided to claim this bench in the name of his ass only.
What a dick.
This is exactly the kind of thing that I should not let bother me, yet I am incapable of abiding (pretty sure this would be a different disorder, requiring a different book, that I will deal with if/after I get the first thing under control).