Things I Hate (Thanks Bob!)

(February 23, 2007)

Friday afternoon, a beautiful clear and windy day in Boston. I just got back from Stop & Shop, picking up a delicious sushi lunch (California rolls and salmon) and mulling over my own "things that I can't stand" a la Uncle Bob. It's funny -- the night I read his entry, I used my big container of salt and for the first time made note of the little "fffft!" sound the metal spout makes when it rubs against cardboard. Gotta say, I'd never noticed that in my thirty-something years. It's great how one person's "I hate that!" is another person's "what do you mean?" I'll never open the salt again without thinking of Uncle Bob. It still doesn't bother me, but now I'll think of how it bothers Bob.

I don't mind the guy who made the salt spout. I like him better than the other guy who Bob likes better, the one who came up with the punch-along-the-dotted-line opener? Dude. That punch-along-the-dotted line opener never works! I always end up tearing the top off whatever I'm trying to open. I'll take a metal spout over the dotted line any day of the week.

Then there's...

The UnSeasonables: You've seen 'em, these people. It's ten degrees in the shank of February, wind is like a knifeblade, and they're walking around in a jacket meant for, at most, September. No hat, no scarf, no gloves. Not even earmuffs if you're into that sort of thing. Now, they wouldn't look so stupid if they were actually warm enough. I mean, not everyone's biology is the same -- you might need a sweater while I am perfectly comfortable, etc. However, they're NOT warm enough, and so yes, they look pretty darn stupid. Their faces are bubblegum pink, they're talking funny because their lips are numb, and they're squinting and doing that hands-in-pockets rapid-paced hunch-walk down Boylston. Now I'm no expert, but I don't think there's any amount of shoulder-hunching you can do that'll make your hoodie feel like a real coat. The worst part is, you just know that the UnSeasonables deliberately didn't put on a big warm coat because they didn't...wanna...look stupid.

The Lazy Guzzlers: The least you can do, if you MUST drive an SUV, is clean the snow from all windows and the roof. Yes, the roof. Is this news to anyone? You clean the snow off the ROOF. "You go girl," I thought to myself this morning, when I saw a young blonde using a broom to de-snow as much of her SUV's roof as possible. People who don't do this: if you leave snow there, don't you know that as you merrily drive along, huge chunks of ice and snow are pitching straight at humans, dogs and cars? At high speed with intent to damage life and limb and windshield? And don't say that you can't reach it; the girl I saw today was MAYBE five feet tall, hence the broom. Does there need to be a law or warning for everything? Because "Do not endanger others with your hurling deadly snow bombs" would fall right in line with the "Do not eat" warning that's printed on those apparantly delicious-looking silica beads that get packed with electronic appliances. Don't eat those, they're not candy. And please, clean the snow from your SUV roof. (While you're at it, get ALL the windows clear, you're a menace driving along peering through a clear spot the size of a salad plate.)

The Interrupters: There's a lotta these. I'm surrounded by them. Damn if I can't get five words out. And most of 'em are interrupting answers to questions. Questions they have asked me. This has got to be the rudest thing ever. First, bother me to ask me something. Then as I begin to reply, theoretically to help or provide necessary information, cut me off. To paraphrase an admitted interrupter, Paula Poundstone, Martin Luther King could be saying "I have a dream--" and some people would be all, "OOOOH, I had a dream last night! There was this badger, only it wasn't a badger it was Mrs. Singleton my third grade teacher..."

What else bothers me but not necessarily you? Oh, I've recently begun to snarl at stickers on fruit. That never used to bother me, and I lived with someone a few years ago who LOATHES that.

Speaking of inappropriate stickers! Price tags stuck to shit in the wrong place? Say you work in a Target. You are pricing picture frames today. You're armed, your sticker gun fully loaded. The price sticker can go so many places. WHY are you putting them right on the front, on the glass, where it takes copius amounts of hot water, soap and rubbing to remove all the gummy mess? COME ON, give me a break!

Alright, I've gotten to the end of my lunch break before I've gotten to the end of my Bob-esque rant. Maybe later I'll get around to whistlers, angry service people and whichever dog owners are maintaining the mountains of poo on the mulch area outside my office building.