Two kinds of people write blogs: pathetic losers with no one to talk to and no one to care about their meager accomplishments and travails, who put their trivialities into the ether with the delusional thought that someone will read them and sympathize, giving the blogger hope that he/she is not alone in the world; and those with such overbearing egos that they feel compelled to shove their banal opinions down the throats of the unsuspecting and don’t give a rat’s ass if anyone reads, or agrees with them. (You may be the judge of which category applies here.)
All of us (except maybe the first type of blogger cited above) have petty frustrations that irk us, things we think may just be stupid, or shouldn’t allowed to happen in a sane and just world. Many of these things falls under the auspices of the International Conspiracy to Piss Us Off. Such affronts, when noted, should immediately be stamped out.
In a related note (in my mind, anyway) are the random thoughts we are all prone to concerning how a perfect world would be run. These thoughts are often phrased in some form like, “If I were in charge…” Since I am clearly defined as a Category Two blogger, my phrasing more often runs along the lines of, “When I take over…”
Today’s example is provided as a service to our readers, just in case I really do take over some day, so you’ll know in advance how to avoid pissing me off. Everyone else is on their own.
After skipping breakfast this morning, I decided to avail myself of a delicious quarter-pound kosher hot dog and cold beverage after concluding the weekly Costco run. No one was in line when I started over, but a woman got there first. No biggie. Then one of her kids joined her. Then another. Then another. Then the old man, dragging two more with him.
Let’s start with the obvious: no one needs five kids today. If the earth was a ship, it would sink; if it was an airplane, it would never get off the ground. The era of “be fruitful and multiply” has passed, regardless of various religions’ views on family planning.
Point Two: If you’re going to bring your entire junior basketball team and both coaches to the line, have a clue about what everyone wants before you get there. The clerk totaled their order three times that I know of; I looked away and may have missed one. “Add a couple of hot dogs.” “Junior wants a Smoothie.” “Wait, Cissy wants a Smoothie now, too.” “Is that the only flavor you have?” “Three pretzels—no, wait, make that two.”
All I wanted was a dog and a Coke. I wasn’t in a hurry, but I have reached an age where the Icy Hand of Death™ is more than an abstract concept; the frost accumulating on my hair and beard shows its increasing proximity. How much time I care to spend watching little Roger decide whether he wants his pretzel with or without salt is limited.
Stay tuned for more in-depth info on the International Conspiracy to Piss Us Off. It’s not just me they’re after, you know. Do it for the children. Just not for the five in front of me at Costco.