Things That Aggravate Me - Part 2

Holy CRAP has it really been almost two years since my last post?? Seems like just yesterday I was vomiting my aggravations on blogger's canvas. Well, time flies, but aggravations accumulate, so I think I'm long overdue for the second installment of Things That Aggravate Me.

Parking Lot Etiquette

I don't know about you, but I personally loathe parking lots. I understand they were meant to provide convenient parking space relatively close to whatever business or market you need to visit, and if it was just me using them, I'd have no problem whatsoever. It's what OTHER assholes do in them that really ticks me off.

• If you are driving through the center aisle, YIELD. Shit, I know courtesy has died to some extent, but this is about more than being polite. If I'm trying to back out of my parking space and you come zooming through the freaking aisle on your way to the the big sale Dollar Tree is having, I'm bound to back right into you. And then you'll wish that it was Car Dents R Us having a sale instead.

• I know this is confusing to many, many, many people, but those white or yellow lines all across the parking lot aren't just the result of a drunk guy who stole the line painting machine one night. They're actually there to help you park your vehicle in the most effective space saving manner, meaning that when I pull in next to you, there will be enough space for MY vehicle. You're not supposed to line your tires up with the freaking line, you're supposed to be IN BETWEEN them. And if your stupid gas guzzling Humvee won't fit in there, you probably shouldn't be driving it in the first place.

• I don't care if you're old or if your mobility is somewhat impaired; if you can't walk from your parked car to the store, maybe it's time to ask someone to do it for you. How the hell are you going to get your shopping done if you can't even walk 40 steps to the front door anyway? Stop having someone drop you off at the door, stalling every single car behind you (and ahead, going the other way) while you painfully and oh so slowly extricate yourself from your seat. Drive your hoveround right in there instead, apparently you can GO GO GO in it.
  

• Either cross the parking lot main aisle, or stand away from the curb. How the hell am I supposed to know whether or not you're going? Don't stand there with your stupid shopping cart, looking dumbly at my stopped car, and start moving just as I start driving again, having decided you're having a mild seizure.

Grocery Store Etiquette

The only reason I go to the grocery store is that I can't afford or stomach fast food three times a day. I love getting fresh ingredients and preparing good meals, and so going to the grocery store is a necessity. But if I could get my groceries delivered without breaking the bank, you can bet your ass I would avoid the hassle - and the people.

• Your grocery cart is supposed to help you, not hinder me. I don't care if you got the squeaky one or not, it has no business being parked across the aisle while you figure out whether you want turkey breast or frozen egg rolls for dinner. Seriously, you're not the only one in the store, and if you have no idea what kind of easy frozen dinner you wanna get, you should move to the side and let other people shop while you're actively considering how fast your microwave can obliterate your oven's cooking ability.

• Ok. So you're 45 and still working as a cashier at Martin's. So what? Dude, you're employed, and making a living, and that's more than a lot of people can say in this economy. You don't have to take out your anger at not being president on paying customers. You should know that while I don't expect you to be overly pleasant, being overly rude really pisses me off. Don't say "have a good day" if you don't mean it, especially after giving me that scornful look because I had to tell you that those "prickly things" were artichokes. You work in a fucking grocery store for god's sake, show a little pride - or intelligence, for that matter.
  

• Walmart greeters, whoever you are, this one's for you. I understand that you're only doing your job, however shitty it must be. I know that you're not trying to assault me, and I know you need to make a living somehow. I will gladly ignore your greeting and walk by you. It's aggravating, but I can live with it. DO NOT attempt to re-greet me, or walk alongside me to make sure I acknowledge you. I will slap you. I don't care about the fact that you must be fucking lonely and yearning for any conversation or even for someone to notice you. That is your problem my friend. Go chat with the meat lady, I hear she's got a lot of juicy gossip. Just leave me alone.

• Count. Your. Items. The express line is clear. It varies from store to store, but it is clear on how many items OR LESS you must have to go through there. If it says 10 and you've got 12, I don't really care. But if you have a cartload of shit and go ahead of me waiting with my one jug of milk, I will call you out. I will let everyone know that you're a stupid lazy ass express line hogger. By the way, having 5 of the same item does not mean you can count it as one.

• Save-A-Lot cashier, I am NOT your buddy. I mean if you were my buddy and started working there I would be, but I don't know you from jack shit. I let it go when you told me my engagement ring was pretty, but that's where I draw the line. Don't ask me about the kids, or tell me about how much of a good time you had getting drunk last night. For one, I don't care, and for two, you're annoying. Quit telling me that "your family drinks a lot of soda" just because I'm in there twice a week getting pepsi for my rum and coke. Mind your own business, and we'll do just fine.

• Charity is great. When I can afford it, I gladly share the wealth. When I can't, sorry, but my kids (and my booze) come first. It's ok for you to ask me if I'd like to round up my purchase to however many cents go to the next dollar. Really, I don't mind. It's NOT ok for you to look at me like I'm a fucking cheapskate because I say no, thank you. AND it's not ok for you to say "really?" looking at the rest of the line behind me to make me feel bad. I pay your fucking salary you dumb ignorant bitch. I'd love to charge YOU for your freakin groceries and give it to my favorite charity, see how you feel.

• Fuck bonus cards. Stop making me feel like I won the lottery because for every one thousand dollars I spend I get one tenth of a penny redeemable in your store, that I'll never use. Want to do me a favor? Drop your prices, shut the hell up, check me out as quickly as possible and get me in my car so I can go and enjoy what I just paid for. My guess is you spend more money on manufacturing those stupid bonus cards than I'll ever save in this lifetime - and the next.

• Walmart sucks.

• I know you're old. I understand things slow down, you've been through a lot, you're probably a fuckin veteran or have had like 13 kids. I get it. I should respect you. And, most of the time, I do. I'll hold the door for you, I'll help you out when you need it, hell, I'm gonna be old one day and I hope someone younger'll do the same for me. But for chrissakes, do I really have to stand in line behind you while you count your gazillion pennies that you just MUST spend to pay for that spam?? And to add insult to injury, once you've paid for your chew without dentures shit, you pull out like a hundred and five lottery tickets to be checked, even though you KNOW they're not winners. Just die already, and save me some time.

• Produce managers. How can you put a green banana next to a ripe banana next to a completely brown banana and charge the same price for all of them? If I put a broken down 1979 buick next to a '85 buick with 55,000 miles on it next to a 2011 brand new buick and tried to charge the same price, I'd be bankrupt in a week! How do you sleep with yourself? Do you bring one of these green bananas to bed? Does making an extra 58 cents off of a blind fat lady in a hoveround on a rotten tomato with black spots give you a woody? Seriously, you're taking yourself way too seriously??? See how I used the same word twice in a row? It's lame. Like when you sell an orphanage 200 pounds of deadly green potatoes at the same price as 200 pounds of nearly worthless healthy potatoes and snicker at TGI Friday's over fuzzy navels on the bonus you made by cutting a dollar and 58 cents off the budget. You suck.

• If you don't understand the internet, email or how the little black keychain thingy makes your car go beep beep, squealing in joy and unlocking your car doors at the same time DO NOT ATTEMPT to check yourself out in the automated computerized checkout aisle. It's pretty simple. The computer speaks a language you do not understand. You are either a fossil or a moron. Probably both. You wouldn't go to France or Spain or inner New York City without a translator. Don't hold me up in the super fast self check out lane trying to decipher the obvious and big, easy touch screen options: produce check up, coupon or insert cash here. Shit the fucking machine actually speaks to you in very clear, easy to understand words. And if it chokes up, there's an actual person there to fix it for you. You're an idiot. Learn a lesson from those insurance commercials: perhaps a caveman could do it...but your dumbass is screwed. Get over it.

Sporting Events Etiquette

I love sporting events. Hubby and I watch baseball, football and golf on TV and it's a blast. For the most part. We also go to little league ball games and that's also fun...up to a point. Of course we care about score, but mostly we care about the game itself. Unfortunately, there's always an asshole out there to ruin some of it for everyone else.

• Stupid fucking annoying bastard, I do not know who you are. All I know is that you somehow make it to every single fucking golf tournament ever televised. I. Hate. You. Rory MacIlroy is on the tee of a par five. FIVE. Loooooooooooooong way to the hole. Yet you stand there like Nostradamus' PR team calling for the end of the Universe every year, and at the top of your lungs, you yell: "GET IN THE HOOOOOOOOOOOLE!". The other day, we went golfing. On a good day we might shoot a good 150 (with mulligans). I swear this dumb asswipe yelled "get in the hole" when we put the key in the cart. If I ever meet you, I will put YOU in the hole, ass first.

• Little league parents, listen up. It's a GAME. They are 8, 9, 10 years old? They're kids trying to have a good time. Unfortunately, you turn them into kids worrying about what unhelpful or demeaning comment you are going to yell at them next. Here's a tip: they're worried about what the new sponge bob will enlighten them with. Not how they should be shading the left hander at the plate who drives the ball where it's pitched to. They don't understand pitch counts, don't keep up with the scores, they're not even sure if a bat's main purpose isn't to be used to break a pinata. Calm down. Get over your penis size, or boob size, take a breather, and just enjoy seeing your kid having a good time. You cannot overcome your own shortcomings by ruining your kid's childhood. Next time your blood pressure rises when your kid is at bat, buy an extra salted soft pretzel with loads of mustard and die. You'll be doing me, your kid and the world a huge favor.

• I LOVE live baseball. I love the stadium, I love the players, and most of all I love the beer. I love football too, for that matter. I love any live sporting event, maybe with the exception of cricket, and then maybe only because they're playing baseball assbackwards. But I always, in every sporting event, hate the painted guy. I understand that putting all that paint on your chest and back and face and god knows where else must have taken quite some time. To get to the stadium without smearing it in the car must have been quite a feat. But that notwithstanding, you just plain suck. You're 40. This is why your family disowned you. This is why your friends mock you. This is why you're divorced and haven't been laid in 20 years. This is why your kids walk past you when you try to pick them up from school. And, most importantly, this is why the stadium cam will NOT pick you up. I like oysters. I don't dress up in a shell, crawl into the ocean and pretend to be one. You are not an athlete or a mascot or even a remotely interesting midget from the circus. You're a deadbeat lost soul who thinks that painting yourself an acting like an asshole will help your team win the series. It will not. A better pitcher or quarterback will. They don't even know you exist (and thank god for their ignorance) and the rest of us wish we had never seen your ridiculous ass. One sight of you would cause your favorite player to make the worst play of their life. It might even haunt them in their sleep. I know it haunts me in mine. Grow up and put a fucking shirt on. Your nipples are scary. Focus on the important things like dominating your fantasy league and finally winning a dungeons and dragons tournament with your loser friends. Hey, and worst case scenario? This will reduce the amount of restraining orders filed by your family and favorite team against you.

Ok, enough for now. If I go any further, I'm bound to go crazy and get myself all painted up, run into the nearest grocery store and yell "GET IN THE HOLE!!!" which would probably get me committed. I'll rest a bit and write up the next installment later.