On this Labor Day, a time normally reserved the think fondly back on all the workplace slowdowns, stoppages, wildcat strikes, and questionable Teamster leadership murders of the past, I would instead like to focus our attention on a hodgepodge of things that are just generally pissing me off. What would you rather do on this Monday: enjoy a beer and a hot dog or read about me bitching?
That’s what I thought.
Heart Hands
This abomination has to stop. Everyone’s doing it, and I’d sincerely wish flipping the bird had caught the public’s imagination as opposed to this nausea-inducing, faux-sincere, cutesy travesty. It’s shallow, it’s pointless, and it devalues anything sincere acts of affection.
Intrusive Waiters
“How’s the food taste?” That question will tempt me into a 0% tip. I am utterly respectful and polite to waiters, but I see it is as their role to answer any questions I might have, get my order right, deliver it promptly, and then vanish unless I summon them over. That’s it. I don’t want to be asked how are you folks doing. I don’t want to be told “good choice!” when I order something. And I certainly don’t want them asking what my mouth and tongue are experiencing with respect to the food I paid for. Just buzz off and leave me alone until I ask for the check.
Partner Ghosting
While we’re at the restaurant, I hold the exact opposite value when it comes to people at the table. Talk! Converse! Learn! And put your fucking phone away! Whenever I see a couple in which they are both on their phone (or, even worse, just one of them), I just want to smack the electronics out of their hands.
Instant Victims
With all the chest-pounding and he-man stuff that goes on, one would suspect some folks would be tougher than they are, but it seems these days any little offense or slight is met with fury. The kerfuffle about the guy who threw a Subway sandwich at a federal officer is a great example of this.
Entrepreneurs
I touched on this in my Saturday morning post. To my mind, an entrepreneur is someone who takes on personal and financial risk to exploit a desire or an idea of theirs with the goal of profit. I’m an entrepreneur. Steve Jobs was an entrepreneur. Walter White from Breaking Bad was an entrepreneur. Suckers who think they can make easy money for a Lambo by “trading” are not entrepreneurs.
They’re marks.
Rat-A-Tat Dialog
I’m a writer, and I’ve even got one screenplay and one 73-chapter novel under my belt, so I love good dialog. I’m often amused at the conversations my wife and I have, because when we really get going, it’s like the best thing David Mamet could ever pen. A couple of nights ago, I watched a show in which a couple were talking at a bar, and they had a rapid-fire conversation which I just know the writer thought was so clever and witty but was so contrived as to take me out of the story. Rapid-fire banter can be engaging, but it can also be so false sounding as to be annoying. I know this is a very specific peeve, but, well, my website, my gripes.
Holidays
Anyone who has read my stuff more than a few months know I’m a workaholic, so holidays are anathema to me (especially certainly holidays I won’t mention). It’s appropriate, I suppose, to be bellyaching about this on a holiday – – – one on which I’d Rather Be Trading (make that a bumper sticker!)
Dodge Chargers
Different kinds of people drive Tesla Model Ys. Different kinds of people drive Ford F-150s. Different kinds of people drive Mercedes convertibles. But there’s only one kind of person that drives a Charger (who, umm, doesn’t really look like the nice young man pictured below) and I could seriously do without their noise, their recklessness, and their attitude. Indeed, this is such a pet peeve of mine I actually have a brief scene in my novel about a Dodge Charger driver.
Tiny Microphones
Have you seen these things? I witness them constantly: teeny, tiny, eensy-weensy microphones – – some of which look like makeup brushes and others awkward tethered to earpieces – – that men and women alike on the web use for talking interviews. Look, I use a tiny microphone, but it’s meant to CLIP on yourself. Why are you parading around with it like Hervé Villechaize’s dick?
I guess that’s enough. You’d find this hard to believe, but I’m actually really pleasant company at dinner, probably because I’ve expurgated all my grumpiness through my writing by the time we sit down.
