I have a pet peeve.
Oh, alright – stop rolling your eyes. I have an infinite number of pet peeves. Sue me. I never claimed to be Susie Freaking Sunshine.
In spite of my vast list of grievances, I have tried to make a concerted effort to be more laid back about things. Especially those that I have no power to control or change. Sorta a dumbed down Zen thing, if you will. Still, I am who I am and there are some petty trivialities that, no matter how much I try, continue to drive me absolutely batshit crazy.
When I originally started this blog entry a few weeks ago, it was in response to a near meltdown I had at my favorite Target Store; however, in the interim and after a much-needed cooling off period, I have decided to treat you to a list of my top three pet peeves and how I’ve learned to suck it up and deal. My way of proving that I’m learning to let things roll off my back.
Again – I could do without the eye rolling.
3. I hate the smell of ketchup. I hate the sound of people eating in the close quarters of the movie theater. Put these two things together and I have instant sensory overload. Drowning out the din of a hundred or so munching moviegoers is easy – large popcorn, extra mystery butter substance. Perhaps not ideal for the waistline but it gets the job done. Getting away from the nauseating stench of ketchup is a little harder. To add an additional element of difficulty to the situation, the offending food swimming in that nasty condiment is usually in the hands of a child.
I’ve always wondered why perfectly rational mothers do this. Am I the only who thinks giving children messy finger foods to eat in a darkened theater is a bad idea? I mean, really, why tempt fate? Inevitably, that ketchup slickened hot dog is going to make the jump into hyperspace. Out of the bun it goes, down the front of said child’s shirt, bouncing once off the knee and eventually coming to rest just out of reach beneath the my seat. The mother will shriek in shock and scold the faultless child who will in turn begin to cry.
The old me would have had a stroke. The new me scopes out the theater ahead of time and plans accordingly. In the event of an ambush, I have found that very strong, minty gum helps mask any offending and foul odors thrown my way. Problem solved.
2. Parking lot etiquette is a thing that seems to have gotten lost in translation somewhere over time. The very minute the operator of a motor vehicle enters the domain of a private parking lot, seemingly untouchable by the local law, something strange happens. All the rules of the road taught in Driver’s Education are forgotten and it becomes a game of survival of the fittest – or who’s car is bigger. Apparently the bigger you are, the fewer rules you are required to follow. Unfortunately for me, I have a small sports sedan which is very low on the food chain. It matters not that it is an awesome shade of red. Oh no. I think the red has an overcoating of invisi-shield because I am virtually undetectable in the parking lot.
I cannot begin to count the number of times I have been toodling along, minding my own business when I am suddenly on a collision course with a huge SUV driving straight at me, across the designated parking spaces at a high rate of speed. My life flashes before my eyes until I find my voice – and my horn. It always amazes me that they look shocked to see me there. Of course, shocked gives way to indignation and I have often found myself on the receiving end of a notso nice hand gesture. It probably doesn’t help that they likely read lips. I can be reactionary in these situations and I have a very colorful vocabulary thanks to a mother who taught me the best unladylike words the English language has to offer.
In my defense – they started it.
Hm. Now that I’ve sat here and thought this particular pet peeve through, I don’t believe I have made any progress in tempering my rage where these incidents are concerned. I guess I will have to file this one under “Work in Progress”.
1. Oddly enough, my biggest pet peeve is another parking lot faux pas. As I’ve said in a previous blog – I like rules. They bring order to chaos. I don’t do chaos. It makes me itchy. So it shouldn’t surprise you that nothing pisses me off more than the sight of a rogue shopping cart careening wildly across the parking lot only to be abruptly stopped by the side of a very unlucky car. Often times, it is my poor abused car that is the victim of such blatant disregard for the unwritten rules of buggy return. Take cart, fill cart, pay for goods that fill cart, take goods to car in said cart, empty cart, RETURN CART TO HANDY-DANDY CART RETURN CORRAL. Easy- peasy.
You’d think. But sadly, no.
Is it laziness that prevents people from putting in a little effort to do what is right? Or the deep-seated sense of entitlement that has gripped our country in the last few decades? I don’t know. Though I tend to lean toward a combination of both factors. It certainly can’t be denied that there are those among us who believe the rules don’t apply to them. That they are somehow above it all because…well…because they are them.
But in an effort to be more understanding toward those who seem to have missed out on the common courtesy chromosome, I have learned to accept….
…oh hell, who am I kidding?
All I want to do is take that shopping cart and ram it into the lazy asshat’s car – over and over and over and over…
Guess we will mark this one as “Work in Progress”, too.
Seems I have room for improvement.