So, most of my freinds, including my co-authors here, would tell you that I am generally a laid-back individual. Not much really gets to me… at least not all at once. No, I have to see the same stupid-ass behaviors several times before they really manage to annoy me sufficiently to write about it. So, for your enjoyment, and in the spirit of catharsis, I offer the following random sources of unreasonable anger:
- Your headphones should not ever be larger than the device playing the music. At least certainly not by several orders of magnitude. I see a woman nearly every single day with a tiny iPod, and gigantic headphones. You may as well walk around with a couple of Victrolas strapped to your skull. Unless you are headbanging vigorously, listening to music should not tone your neck muscles.
- Pressing the button at the crosswalk 3,000 times will not make the light change faster. Here’s how it works, folks: press the button, and at the appropriate moment in the cycle of light changes, the ‘walk’ sign will appear. Standing on the corner pressing the button repeatedly like a monkey on methamphetamines will not make a lick of difference – it will change when it changes. All you’re doing is making yourself look like a fucking idiot, but fortunately the beeping noise makes it easier to tell where you are.
- There’s a lot of noise made about courteous driving, who is teaching courteous walking? Nobody, that’s who. To the morons who can’t walk and hold a conversation without taking up an entire pedway, move the fuck over. When stopping to figure out where you are, please don’t randomly stop and aimlessly move from side to side – if you do, there will be at least one person behind you with a red face and a bulging forehead vein who will gladly take you the fuck out. Which, I suppose, would solve your problem as your location would then be irrelevant. Finally, old people at the mall and elsewhere: I understand, you’re old and close to death, and want to savor every moment, and that’s wonderful, circle of life, whatever whatever. Just remember that some of us are not retired, some of us have deadlines and meetings and family obligations, and would appreciate if you could step aside, or, alternately, drop the fuck dead, you slow, wrinkly ass old motherfucker.
- Why is it not ok to portray a woman as unintelligent, but every man on television, particularly commercials, is a barely functional retard? Granted, some of us men are morons – I used to be in retail, so I am very familiar with the concept. However, every man on commercials should logically be starving to death, wearing horribly stained clothes, sitting in a pile of his own filth in a decrepit house except – thank goodness! He’s married, and his super sensible wife will save him from himself! Think about it, though: how competent and caring are you, little missy, if you married this helpless ape in the first place, and had offspring with him? How good does your infallible judgement work when you remember you have fucked this man-child at least once, and allowed him to pass on his genetics? Thanks for spawning another generation of drooling muttonheads (unless it’s a girl, of course). Look smugly at your clean counters all you like, somewhere your idiot hubby is lighting himself, or possibly others, on fire. Good thing you are so goddamned smart. Enjoy your life sentence chained to an orangutan! Mazeltov!
- Seriously, who the fuck besides you cares if you can dance? Singing, or other types of talent, I can, if only reluctantly, understand – but dancing? That’s gotta be a limited job market. Don’t be wasting the warranty on my television inflicting your spasmic flailings on me and my loved ones. Consider for a moment before you answer the following: how many famous dancers can you name? Let me be more specific – not actors, like Gene Kelley or Fred Astaire; not singers who dance well, like Paula Abdul; and not ballet dancers, like Baryshnikov or whoever else, but hip-hop style modern dancers. I can’t think of any. Perhaps I lead a sheltered life, or, maybe, just maybe, there ain’t too many of ’em. You can shake your fat ass and move your feet to some awful music: congratulations, sunshine. Enjoy poverty. Rhythmically.
- Additional volume does not make English magically translate into a universal language. Folks, I been hanging onto this one for a while. It’s Summer, 1992. I am spending the final week of my exchange program to Germany at a hostel in Frankfurt. I’ve been there for three and a half months, living with a German family in a small town, and eating nearly all of my meals with them. I’m ready for a change, so I head for a McDonald’s sign… And end up in line behind a couple in their mid-30s (I refrain from naming a nationality, but it rhymed with Camerican) who are screaming at the top of their lungs in an attempt to make their order understood to a unilingual German girl behind the counter. They are getting more frustrated, the young girl is about to cry. The woman, in true douchebag fashion, asks the poor employee, at full volume, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” Which is where I stepped in. My first instinct would have been to inflict critical wounds through the forceful introduction of tourist skull to counter, but, curiously, I stepped in and calmly translated (yes, I speak German). The couple looked surprised, the employee looked at me as if I were like unto the Second Coming. The couple went away grumbling, I got a big smile and some free fries from an appreciative fraulein. So, next time any of you out there feel superior to someone because you speak the Queen’s English, remember just how many languages it is stolen from, and how many great works were written in other languages. Calm the fuck down, and try to understand – believe me, you may not enjoy the fries, but the smile makes it worthwhile.