Things That Annoy Me, Part

By



First publshed March, 2011





I’m walking down the hall, or on the green belt, or maybe even on the sidewalk. I see you coming the other way, a fellow human, a fellow traveler, a soul unit worthy of acknowledgement. I say “Good morning,” or “Hello,” or that old standby, “How are you?” You walk right on by as if I’m invisible. My initial emotional response isn’t hurt or embarrassment or sympathy for whatever might have been weighing so heavily on your mind that you didn’t have the wherewithal to answer back. A smile or a little wave of your hand would have made my day. No, my initial emotional response is that you’re an insensitive, rude shit hole who didn’t deserve to be acknowledged in the first place. Would it have killed you to respond, even if you didn’t mean it? My bad. I won’t do it again.


Okay, it’s August, 101 oppressive degrees outside. We’re sitting in a nice air conditioned restaurant for lunch. Every time someone enters or leaves there’s a blast of hot air, like the afterburners of an F-22, but hey, it’s summer, it’s hot. What are you gonna do? I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get your inconsiderate ass in or out as quickly as possible. Don’t stand there with the door wide open, letting all of the AC out and all of the August misery in, while you gaze at the landscape inside trying to decide if it’s worth waiting fifteen minutes for a table, or nahhh, maybe we’ll go to that sandwich place a few doors down instead. Wintertime? Same thing in reverse. In or out, Frosty.


And speaking of doors . . . I know there’s always going to be that hillbilly who enters the building right in front of you with absolutely no thought or consideration for who might be behind him. Soon as he clears the threshold the door swings shut right in your face. Thanks, genius. Almost as bad, though, is that oh-so-polite citizen who gets to the door when I’m still thirty feet away and then stands there holding the goddamned thing, waiting for me. And waiting. And waiting. Always with a smile, but still with that unspoken sentiment glowing all around him: he didn’t think I was going to take this long. He’s not saying it, but I know he’s thinking it: “Come on, stupid. I don’t want to stand here holding the door all day.”  Yeah, well I don’t want to be made to feel as though I have to run now, just so I won’t inconvenience you any longer than I already have. A little common sense here, people. If I’m half a mile away, don’t hold the door. You’re letting out the AC. Say, weren’t you at that restaurant yesterday?


And yes, yes, I get the joke. Why does everybody sit in the stands at football games? Maybe if I were a college student I wouldn’t mind standing for three hours— hell, I’d probably be too drunk or high to notice the difference anyway. But for a lot of us the idea is to be spectators. To sit. Have a big overpriced hotdog and a cold one, both of which are incredibly difficult to consume, at least at the same time, while standing. And why are you standing anyway? The game will be just as exciting if you’re sitting as it will be if you’re standing. And, news flash: you’ll be able to see just as well, maybe even better if you’re sitting. Oh, I get it. I get it. You’re excited. You gotta stand to see if he got the first down. Okay, if it makes you feel better. But once they move the chains, how about you sit down again? So that the people behind you can, oh, I don’t know. See the game?!


And what is it with people at stadiums and arenas anyway that they can’t sit still and stay in their seats? Constantly up and down, up and down. Stepping on my feet, wide load ass in my face. ’Scuse me, ‘scuse me. Sorry. Last time, I promise. Here’s a thought: pee right before the game starts so you won’t have to get up again until halftime. Buy all your junk food before the game starts and either get set up at your seat so you can sit and eat and watch the game, or eat before you go to your seat. Or eat at halftime. Do something. But for God’s sake, you paid a king’s ransom for eighteen inches of space in this planet-sized sardine can— use it. Sit in it. Get your money’s worth. Let the rest of us enjoy our little slices of bleacher heaven without having to constantly get up to let you and your buddies pass while we look through you, around you, past you, over you and hope to Jesus the lines to the restrooms and the concessions stands are so long you won’t be back for an hour.


And by the way. When you make it to the aisle and you spot some old friend you haven’t seen in forever, how about moving the reunion down the steps and under the stands instead of standing there in the middle of the aisle blocking the tinklers, the munchers, and oh yes, the people behind you, once again, who are actually trying to, um, see the game! You’re a pane (read: pain), but we can’t see through you!


Ah, back to the restaurant for a minute. You’re sitting with a group, your set, the boys from the office, it’s girls’ night out. Everybody’s drinking, having a good time, laughing at shit that isn’t funny, but hey, that’s what you do when you’re one of the guys/girls. Okay, I get it. You’re having a good time; you’re the life of the party. But keep it down. Your incessant gaffing and howling and cackling at jet engine/rock concert levels is drowning out all the other conversations in the restaurant. Great. You’re having a rollicking good time; so were we until you turned up the volume. Do everyone else in the restaurant a solid. Tone it down, or shut the up altogether.


Yes, here’s a little tip for you security-conscious car owners out there. Kill your car alarm. Disable it. No one cares, not even the cops. I called the Houston Police Department, Auto Theft Division, once years ago to ask what the best car theft deterrent was. Sergeant Somebody-or-Other said The Club (remember those?) was about the best thing out there at the time. Not car alarms? I asked. “God no,” he said. “Hell, we don’t even pay attention to them.” So, besides the fact they don’t deter anyone, and they’re incredibly annoying when they go off and you’re a mile away, inside the mall or the movie theater or someplace where you can’t possibly hear it going off, you’re embarrassing yourself and just asking to be keyed by some guy in the parking lot who’s already having a horrible day and just needed one more thing to go wrong.


Well, that'll hold me for the moment. But there's more, so much more. But I've given myself a headache. I need to calm down.

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