When I say you, I mean you, and you know who you are.
You are the person in the car in front of me who, despite California legislation, does not have to wear a headset when using your cell phone and driving. You, it would appear, are exempt, and despite your abysmal driving skills, are allowed to drive with two fingers on the steering wheel while holding your rhinestone encrusted phone up to your ear to discuss, what I can only imagine, is a matter of national security.
You are the person on the freeway in the lane next to mine, who has permission from the California Highway Patrol and the universe to make lane changes without having to bother with those pesky turn indicators the manufacturer included with your automobile. It would also appear that the 70 MPH maximum speed is really just a suggested guideline like the FDA’s Recommended Daily Allowance of Vitamin C marked on your box of Cheerios.
You are the person who not only refuses to get on the green bandwagon by recycling, but for whom littering is not subject to a fine, but rather is an art form and you excel at throwing fast food wrappers, soda cans, old shoes, and used condoms out the window of your car.
You are the person on the treadmill next to me who, despite the dozen clearly posted Please Do Not Use Your Cell Phone In This Area signs, is chatting away on their phone. And not because I am close enough to hear you, but because you are shouting, I now know all about your marriage, that you have a yeast infection, and that, yes, you really are THAT important.
You are the person in the same aisle as I am at COSTCO. Despite the fact that the aisle is 10 ft wide and can accommodate several giant buy-it-in-bulk carts, your need to meander, slowly, milling if you will, in the center of the aisle, blocking all other traffic takes precedence. Please, do not pull over to the right to let me pass, I have all day and am really enjoying our time together.
You are the person in the checkout line at the market who decided that they really did not need that gallon of milk, pint of ice cream, and other items from the refrigerated section of the market, and took them out of your cart and put them on the magazine rack next to the belt. Thank you. I am really looking forward to being the person who gets that gallon of milk after it has been put back - after having sat on the magazine rack for an hour. But I understand, you are in a hurry, and you need to get your shopping done. The trip down the aisle to put it back would take up your precious time and besides, the clerk will figure it out eventually, that is what they are paid for.
You are the parent at the table in the restaurant who knows how much I want to share in your parenting experience, and your child is so charming, that you encourage him/her to run around the restaurant, gallivanting from table to table, while you take a breather and a moment to enjoy your meal. Really, I like paying $50 a head to babysit your child.
You are the person who used the restroom before me and, because it was more convenient for you, squatted rather than use a toilet seat cover and cannot deign to touch the handle of a public toilet to flush it. That is okay, I am also a part-time janitor with a strong stomach.
You are the healthy vital person who parks their car in the handicapped spot or does not get up on the bus/subway to give your seat to an elderly or disabled person. Not to worry, they are fine. A little exercise and balance training will do them some good, as long as you are comfortable.
You are special. You deserve these little considerations. Really, it is okay. I understand. I am good like that.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Kathy Riordan
Joody
shaggylocks
Juliet Waters
Lunchlady 2
Tinkerertink69
Salon.com
Comments
It only took about 2 minutes of blank stare and loud cellphone conversation before she realized that she might, you know, want to move over a bit.
I'll add one: folks who disregard signs about smoking 25 feet away from the exits on campus. I love walking out of a building into a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Whew! That felt better.
Why do we all let these people get away with this shit? What's wrong with us? Why can't we speak up and tell the offenders (when feasible) that they are being rude and inconsiderate? Why?
Can we not shame them into becoming members of the human race rather than just parasites?
Try visiting any neighborhood commercial center where the median household income is greater than 150K a year or so. Drive with the soccer moms and 50 year old balding men in Ferraris. let the fun begin!
And don't even get me started on the 20-something bitch who parked her convertible Beemer in front of a fire hydrant the other day, ran into the bank and announced to the line that she had to go first because it "might start to rain." I was next in line and when I went to use the machine, this maniac got in my face and started screaming about how I was "discriminating" against her. I continued to use the machine without saying anything, but when she ripped my deposit slip out of my hand -- I am not making this up -- I reamed her a new one. Too bad only two people applauded but uber-bitch went on her merry way to spread cheer somewhere else.
Seems to me if you let others upset you for small annoyances, you could spare yourselves needless wear and tear by just shrugging a lot of this off, and recognizing that unless you're perfect, you probably benefit from the tolerance of others, at times, too.
Oh, my wife and I say things. And we're very quiet, unassuming people usually so it generally comes as a shock when the quiet, unassuming couple starts reaming you a new one because you're being inhumanly rude.
I can understand letting people off if it's a minor infraction, but some people are just downright rude - and they need to be told off. The last time I "said something" I was in line at a grocery store. There was a man in front of me, at about 6PM on a Friday, bitching about the lack of checkout people and the "slow service" at the store.
I was with my wife buying some groceries and the checkout girl in our line was young, overworked, and doing the best she could do. I looked at the man, shook my head, and just said, "Sir, everyone is in a hurry and everyone's time is valuable. Perhaps they had some people call in sick. This is an inconvenience to all of us."
He just huffed and looked away but you could tell the others in line were silently cheering me on. People don't stand up to bullies enough. I've posted about this before. It starts in grade school and just gets worse. ;)
Thumbed.
They are the people who stop at the top of the escalator and just stand there.
They are the people who have 20 items in the 15 item checkout lane.
They are the people who drive 60 in the fast lane. FOREVER. And wonder why others pass them And pass them and pass them and pass them. In the right hand lane.
They are the people who, in the 35 mile per hour windy road COME RIGHT UP ON YOUR ASS and sit there and sit there and sit there and then pass you on a DOUBLE YELLOW LINE and give you the finger (Oh, where are the police when you need them?)
Planetarians. Oh yeh. I know them well.
Rated!!!!!!!
I blame our "gimme" culture, where every kid on the team gets a trophy. Because they are all special and precious, like individual snowflakes.
Right on.
But the best thing about snowflakes is that they melt when you touch them. ;) (Just like a lot of these folks do when you stand up to them. Hmmm...)
But yes, I think we need to start speaking up more. I keep wanting to say to loud cell phone talkers, "I'm so sorry about your Mom/dog/abusive husband/bikini wax." Cause we're all supposed to PRETEND we can't hear their intimate conversations. Though some people are so SPECIAL that nothing stops them. I was once on a train where a man was shouting profanity on his cell phone. SEVERAL people asked him to stop and he just ignored them.
Lisa - such a spot-on term, that is going in my custom dictionary.
Thank you all for the great stories and ratings. There's nothing like having a little validation with your aggravation.
The special people congregate around the escalator to chat, wonder where they are or simply contemplate their navels while the rest of us pile up behind them, frantically trying not to fall over each other.
The special people force their way past you into the bus / taxi while you're trying to get out.
The special people gesticulate wildly while they talk, heedless of the fact that their fists missed your face by millimetres.
The special people reserve the right to get into the bus or taxi first, even though you've been waiting in the gale force wind / torrential rain / blistering hot sunshine for about 30 minutes.
The special people make nasty comments when waiting in long queues about "this is how it is in the new South Africa" and it doesn't occur to them that the dark-skinned person right behind them probably wouldn't have been allowed to stand in the same queue as them back in "the old South Africa".
Penrose - I knew there was a reason I wanted to be southern :)
Thank you Zumalicious - and thank you to Lisa for suggesting me to the Daily Scrawl.