Personal Minor Psychoses
Personal Minor Psychoses
I point to Emily's Friday Fuckoff thread as my bit of inspiration for my blogamathing tonight. In today's edition, commentor Julie issues the following fuckoff:
I'll say first...yeah, that's one of life's moments. Seeing how close to the precipice of madness rush hour traffic will get you...especially when you seem to get behind the bastard too stupid or cowardly to deal with driving in this modern world. I'll admit to a Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde transformation in Atlanta the last time I went, smartly right in the middle of afternoon rush. The catalyst was finding myself behind a BMW who couldn't bring themselves to go even the speed limit. The rest of the vehicular world is whirring by, a blur of modern mechanical marvels. In the space of 30 seconds, I'm frothing at the mouth and cussing the smartass on the radio station who decides to to play "I Can't Drive 55..."
You're driving a fine automobile, that can surely keep with the ebb and flow of traffic. Please follow the pace of traffic. My sanity is hanging by bubblegum and baling wire...
So, yeah. I agree.
Brings to mind two minor psychoses of mine, with a corollary to a third:
1.) I'm a little ill-at-ease with the number of people who can't seem to get a handle on how to properly enter traffic on the interstate. That on-ramp? That's a long, straight stretch of road generally, and it's intended that you use that stretch to get up somewhere near the speed of traffic on the interstate. Now, I grant you, maybe you won't get all the way there, but if you're withing spitting distance, we're going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Once you're on the interstate, it's much easier to get up to 70 or so when you're already doing 60, instead of 35....
Keep that in mind as we're both cursing each other on the interstate. I get it. You're cussing me for suddenly being on your ass coming up the on-ramp. I'm cussing you for jogging your car onto the interstate highway system.
General Eisenhower would be so ashamed.
2.) This is perhaps more closely related to the complaint listed above....
Ever get in line behind somebody who won't move forward with the progress of the line? I realize that this is me at my most George Costanza, but I was in the bank the other day. There was one teller open, and the line was four people deep. I was person number four in line.
Person number three, a gentleman wearing protective glasses and the uniform of a person working on an assembly line, is there to deposit a paycheck.
Person number one in line finishes his business. Person number two steps forward to the teller window to begin theirs.
Person number three, he of the coveralls and protective glasses, does not move forward.
I found this out after beginning my step forward, and having to pull a Kramer to keep from knocking into the guy.
Sir, did you fight for that square of tiles you're standing on in the war? Is there a reason you have not stepped forward? Can I go around?
I'm not asking you to be up inside the asshole of the person in front of you, indeed, that's a psychosis of an entirely different species. I'm all about the 18 inch personal space boundary. Not asking you to violate hers or mine. I'm just asking you to step forward as well. You know. Give us some indication that you've joined us in the forward progress of humanity?
Or, at least, turn around and give a word. Maybe a thumb and a whisper "Customer Number Two Smells Like She Shit In Her Pants, So I'm Going To Stand Right Here So As Not To Have The Smell Rub Off On Me." I like to think you'd finish that statement with a wink, and a snap of the fingers that turns into a point.
Just sayin....
2a). This is a corollary to the previous complaint. Ever get in line at the checkout behind a person at the grocery or department store, at a place where items are placed on a conveyor belt? And that person, instead of placing their goods on the empty conveyor belt, is holding their goods on the end of the belt, so that their goods will not go forward?
Generally, these folks are waiting for the person in front of them to finish their transaction. And I assume that the person holding their goods is afraid that their purchases (Little Debbies, Sparkplugs and 80 pounds of puppy chow) will not mix with the order in front of them.
The premise is fine as frog hair with me. But I want to explain technology to them...that there is an electronic eye the front of the belt that will cause the belt to stop when it breaches the eye's field of vision. And even in today's world, most checkers can figure out where one order stops, and another starts. Especially if the gap between them is roughly the same space as that given the Iditarod.
This is a minor complaint. But this is something that befuddles me at the checkout line, especially since the Weekly World News stopped publishing, and I have nothing to occupy my mind while buying my Little Debbies, sparkplugs and 80 pounds of puppy chow....
General Eisenhower would be so ashamed.
I point to Emily's Friday Fuckoff thread as my bit of inspiration for my blogamathing tonight. In today's edition, commentor Julie issues the following fuckoff:
People who leave 5 car lengths in front of them in heavy traffic can FOAD.
OK, if everyone's going 70, it would'nt hurt to use the "3-second rule". But if everyone is going THIRTY on the freeway at (big hint here) RUSH HOUR, the 3-second rule does NOT apply, buddy! If you leave that much space between you and the car in front of you, Everyone And His Brother (Except ME) will zooooom to get in front of you. Why not ME? Because I'm stuck BEHIND YOU, you idiot, and No One In Their Right Mind is going to let me into the next lane so I can zooom by you too!
So do us all a favor and keep a REASONABLE distance, OK, Mister I'm Too Stupid For My Prius?
I'll say first...yeah, that's one of life's moments. Seeing how close to the precipice of madness rush hour traffic will get you...especially when you seem to get behind the bastard too stupid or cowardly to deal with driving in this modern world. I'll admit to a Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde transformation in Atlanta the last time I went, smartly right in the middle of afternoon rush. The catalyst was finding myself behind a BMW who couldn't bring themselves to go even the speed limit. The rest of the vehicular world is whirring by, a blur of modern mechanical marvels. In the space of 30 seconds, I'm frothing at the mouth and cussing the smartass on the radio station who decides to to play "I Can't Drive 55..."
You're driving a fine automobile, that can surely keep with the ebb and flow of traffic. Please follow the pace of traffic. My sanity is hanging by bubblegum and baling wire...
So, yeah. I agree.
Brings to mind two minor psychoses of mine, with a corollary to a third:
1.) I'm a little ill-at-ease with the number of people who can't seem to get a handle on how to properly enter traffic on the interstate. That on-ramp? That's a long, straight stretch of road generally, and it's intended that you use that stretch to get up somewhere near the speed of traffic on the interstate. Now, I grant you, maybe you won't get all the way there, but if you're withing spitting distance, we're going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Once you're on the interstate, it's much easier to get up to 70 or so when you're already doing 60, instead of 35....
Keep that in mind as we're both cursing each other on the interstate. I get it. You're cussing me for suddenly being on your ass coming up the on-ramp. I'm cussing you for jogging your car onto the interstate highway system.
General Eisenhower would be so ashamed.
2.) This is perhaps more closely related to the complaint listed above....
Ever get in line behind somebody who won't move forward with the progress of the line? I realize that this is me at my most George Costanza, but I was in the bank the other day. There was one teller open, and the line was four people deep. I was person number four in line.
Person number three, a gentleman wearing protective glasses and the uniform of a person working on an assembly line, is there to deposit a paycheck.
Person number one in line finishes his business. Person number two steps forward to the teller window to begin theirs.
Person number three, he of the coveralls and protective glasses, does not move forward.
I found this out after beginning my step forward, and having to pull a Kramer to keep from knocking into the guy.
Sir, did you fight for that square of tiles you're standing on in the war? Is there a reason you have not stepped forward? Can I go around?
I'm not asking you to be up inside the asshole of the person in front of you, indeed, that's a psychosis of an entirely different species. I'm all about the 18 inch personal space boundary. Not asking you to violate hers or mine. I'm just asking you to step forward as well. You know. Give us some indication that you've joined us in the forward progress of humanity?
Or, at least, turn around and give a word. Maybe a thumb and a whisper "Customer Number Two Smells Like She Shit In Her Pants, So I'm Going To Stand Right Here So As Not To Have The Smell Rub Off On Me." I like to think you'd finish that statement with a wink, and a snap of the fingers that turns into a point.
Just sayin....
2a). This is a corollary to the previous complaint. Ever get in line at the checkout behind a person at the grocery or department store, at a place where items are placed on a conveyor belt? And that person, instead of placing their goods on the empty conveyor belt, is holding their goods on the end of the belt, so that their goods will not go forward?
Generally, these folks are waiting for the person in front of them to finish their transaction. And I assume that the person holding their goods is afraid that their purchases (Little Debbies, Sparkplugs and 80 pounds of puppy chow) will not mix with the order in front of them.
The premise is fine as frog hair with me. But I want to explain technology to them...that there is an electronic eye the front of the belt that will cause the belt to stop when it breaches the eye's field of vision. And even in today's world, most checkers can figure out where one order stops, and another starts. Especially if the gap between them is roughly the same space as that given the Iditarod.
This is a minor complaint. But this is something that befuddles me at the checkout line, especially since the Weekly World News stopped publishing, and I have nothing to occupy my mind while buying my Little Debbies, sparkplugs and 80 pounds of puppy chow....
General Eisenhower would be so ashamed.
posted by Tommy at
19:21
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