Lately, I’ve been writing a lot of introspective posts. It’s winter and churning in my own neuroses seems to be the sport of choice. With no lift fees. But I’m irritable and when I’m irritable, I remember every single little thing that has ever irritated me since the beginning of time. I’m going to let it all out here. And then I’m dragging my ass to the gym, because those endorphins aren’t going to manufacture themselves. Wait. Whatever – you know what I mean.
Song Lyrics that Irritate Me
Ever since I got lectured in front of the entire English class about subjunctive verbs, I can no longer listen to Paul Simon sing Homeward bound, I wish I was, without correcting him to “were”. He never listens.
The lyrics to Katy Perry’s “Firework” baffle me:
Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?
I don’t know Katy, do you ever feel like a chair? Ascribing to inanimate objects emotions is just weird. I’m sorry, plastic bag, if you want to start again, but you’re just going to end up hanging out with those plastic pop holder rings and maybe kill a whale or two.
Kodaline’s “All I Want” is a simple, emotive song about being left by someone. It’s immensely singable, except when I get to this line:
You took my soul and wiped it clean
Our love was made for movie screens
First of all, nowhere in the song does it explain why he/she left him. Maybe your love was made for a restraining order. Maybe she left because the guy could only make love on a bed of toenail clippings or kept accidentally calling her by his mother’s name. Vague, throwaway sentimental lines that just happen to rhyme. Blech.
When the Corporate Overlords Try Their Hand at Customer Service
Occasionally, I don’t like to cook (on any day that ends in “y”), so I will make a dinner run for the family. Subway is one of my husband’s and daughter’s favorite places, because they like playing Russian roulette with food poisoning and have no class.
I almost peed myself when I opened the door to our local Subway and someone screamed “Welcome to Subway!” Here’s the thing about working stoned – you can’t tell how loud you are. So I hear. I think that scaring the bejeezus out of your customers might be the opposite of what your HQ sires wish.
The Wells Fargo bank does this now, including asking loud, invasive questions about what you are doing there. Last time, I turned around and went to the ATM. I’ll store this 5 gallon bucket of change for some other time, you nosy bastards.
Walgreen’s always says some shit like be well as you leave the store. When I can smell your cigarette breath across the counter and see that 2 liter of Orange Crush that you’ve been guzzling all day, you are not going to be an arbiter of good health. Now, let me take this box of Oreos that I will be doing shots of on the way home and be on my unwell, frigging way.
I feel sorry for the poor bastards who have to wear special hats, or shout out greetings or ask me for my email/zipcode/cup size while I’m trying to make a hasty exit. I know it’s not their fault. I once worked for Radio Shack and had to answer the phone with “You’ve got questions -we’ve got answers!” Never felt so stupid in my whole life, especially since my answer was always, “Hold on, let me ask Bob” and then I’d track down my sweaty, wide-tied, polyester-shirted manager.
Here’s the thing, you corporate peckerheads – you’re not very good at this. The only thing that makes me think you give a rat’s ass about me or my community is if you hire some of these people on full-time with benefits and stop Walmarting my neighbors and friends. Stop treating them like organ-grinding monkeys doing whatever stupid dance you’ve come up with for that week. It’s the least you can do.
The Soundtracks of Our Lives
Hold music. I was on hold with my health insurance company. In between reminding me that I could go online every 5 seconds, where I’d just spent two hours trying to navigate their convoluted shit, they had the unmitigated gall to play “I’ve Had the Time of My Life”. 40 minutes later I hung up. To throw myself in traffic. Expensive, massive surgery seems to get the insurance company’s attention like nothing else.
Loud theaters. Now, I know I’m a middle-aged broad with sensory issues, but my family no longer wants to go to movie theaters. My daughter sat through “The LEGO Movie” with her hands over her ears the entire time. I don’t think my teeth are supposed to vibrate during a kid’s movie.
Commercials playing on the TVs in doctors’ and dentists’ waiting rooms. I am the asshole who will ask them to turn it off. I mean, as much as I love to see mouths full of rotten teeth transformed and the precision bowel resections, I am reminded of all the pharmacy ads exhorting us to ask our doctors. Am I going from the waiting room into the examination room with dreams full of elective shit I don’t need so they can make a profit? No, but I am completely tense and nauseous. Excuse me if my blood pressure seems a little high.
Well, off to the gym to be annoyed by oblivious cell phone chatters and grunting protein freaks and the Spandex apocalypse. I’ll be surrounded by superheroes without capes.
I’m going to need a really, really long run. Be well. Hey – I heard that.
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