You know, there is really nothing like a trip to the grocery store — with all that entails, including the ill-mannered, deliberately slow-moving people in the aisles and the rude people at the check-out and the downright annoying people in the parking lot hell-bent on their
suicidal mission game of chicken — to make you truly understand that you still have a long way to go in realizing your goal of being a “good person.”
Ah, well. Tomorrow is another day.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I have no doubt in my mind that my eventual demise will be brought about by being a smart-ass at the wrong time, with the wrong person. But hey, at least I’ll go out doing something I love.
Going through the stores today on a much-hated “errands run,” I was finally forced to face my darker side. As it turns out, I hate people. Okay, well, yeah, perhaps that was no big secret. Hey! Don’t roll your eyes at me!
However, at one point in my journey, one question loomed first and foremost in my mind…an existential moment if you will. Right in the middle of the pasta aisle of all places. I mean, if you’re going to have a moment, there could be worse places. As for the answers I was seeking, none were forthcoming. But apparently, now, don’t be shocked, but apparently…I failed this particular test. So I thought I would throw it out here, to all of you — perhaps you can help me out. You know, in case this same issue ever raises its ugly head in the future (cause, let’s face it, we all know it will).
Just how many times do I have to say excuse me to someone before get the
fu…hell out of the way becomes acceptable?
at home on the road and I just want to give a shout out to all those altruistic folks on the highways, at red lights, and in parking lots who are oh-so-kind enough to share their music with those of us less fortunate who might not have music of our own to listen to.
Without you, we might have to sit in glorious silence going over that speech we have to give in the PR meeting later, or perhaps, god forbid, we might catch up on the news or the latest weather report, or even be forced to listen to that audio book we checked out at the library just for our commute to work.
If it weren’t for you sharing your music at such a loud decibel that our cars shake, we might never know the pleasures of obscenity-laden music or lyrical rape scenarios, all while having our spines realigned and our heads on the verge of implosion from the sheer force of the bass.
So thank you, fellow citizen!
Thank you for doing your part to make what is already an annoying undertaking — our daily commute or running errands — that much more intolerable by giving of yourselves and your delightful taste in music.
It’s not my job, really, that annoys me so. I actually love what I do and the idea that I’m making a difference for those who have no voice. But here I am, in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, driven insane by the people I deal with on a daily basis, just wishing for a time jump like they do in the movies — you know, to move the plot along — so I can just get to the weekend already.
So. I can’t even blame this on midweek burnout. It’s Tuesday, people. TUESDAY.
It’s only Wednesday, folks. WEDNESDAY.