This Chaps My Ass

Being no more or less human than the rest of society I have a list of things that get my goat, consider them grievances if you will. We should probably start with the one that I see as the current number one contender, the automatic car wash. These people have surpassed everyone except the "gym membership" people in the number of dollars that are being extracting from our checking accounts at the end of the month when we have received nothing in return for the cost of doing business with them. Gyms are nothing more than defunct singles clubs for people who have trouble being social. People like the idea of being able to walk into a public place with the pretext of working out; when all they are really interested in is watching the females in the hot aerobics class who can lick their backs. I have said it before and I stand by it, when testosterone is added to any situation in life, it just makes it worse. I am just glad that I have gotten old enough mine has started subsiding. The gym people aren't nearly as interested in helping you stay in shape as they are drawing you into their "HEALTHY JUICE BAR." Lets's be honest, there might as well be a sign over the top of the gym advertising shots to temper the effects of the black clap.

I work with a married couple who not so long ago decided to join a gym close to work and instead of going out at lunchtime and stuffing their mouths with pizza their intention is to use that hour instead for working out. In theory it's a fantastic idea, but I'm afraid in real life they would rather take the path of least resistance; who could blame them. Yet I digress; back to the car wash. The auto car wash people have become so adept at laying out their sales pitch it has become a race to see if I can punch all the necessary buttons in order to obtain a $10 dollar wash and scan my check card before they can even arrive at the kiosk. ALL I WANT IS A CAR WASH, MUST I LIVE THROUGH THAT SPEIL EVERY TIME I WANT ONE? I know what you are thinking, "doesn't this qualify as a first world problem?" YES, you are correct, but it is no less painful than carrying potable water on your head for twenty miles. Truly, there can be nothing sadder than embracing our own sad reality.

This morning, per the car wash's usual agreement, a kid was standing there talking about their monthly special and I cut him off mid-sentence cause the arm raised and I started to drive towards the wash opening. He stopped his chatter just long enough to say (trying to hide his case of the red ass) "can't you even let me finish?" My answer was, "no thanks, I'm good." That's what came out of my mouth, what I was thinking is "please shut your pie hole and just let me get on with my life, such as it is." Surely the affliction I suffer from (being bothered by the existence of other humans) is a mental sickness of some kind; but I'll be dogged if I know what it is called.

The next joint where they try insensately try to rape your wallet is the fast-food place Panda Express. They are forever asking if you would like to (and I quote) "round up to the nearest dollar to" WELL, YOU FILL IN THE BLANK. For some reason every time they ask I get this vision of what when wrong in the movie "Office Space." This request pisses me off to the point where I am seeing red and I rarely take the time to listen to the remainder of the request. It could even be something as mundane the girl behind the register is saving up for a boob job. If they really want that extra dollar all they really need to do is raise their prices, AGAIN. The round up is more likely something like sending underprivileged kids to college; don't they know that I didn't even have the cash to send my own kid to college. Truth is, I am such a tight wad I will sometimes say yes, but only if the nearest dollar round up is less than a quarter. The best places are the ones where the request is very vanilla and mundane like "to help curb domestic violence." Well, that is very vague folks, for all I know they could be buying some raving alcoholic a keg of Natty Lite, so he won't beat his wife on Saturday night. The request is always concise, the details of the request, not so much.

Not so long ago we discussed the ins and outs of those that are perpetually late to work. We all know some of these people. It very nearly becomes part of their weird identity. We put them in a box at work right along with the guy who microwaves fish for lunch, spends most of his hours at work updating his Instagram page especially when there is work to be done, and always refuses to change out the toilet paper roll any time they have used the last square. That last one really melts my butter!

It's little wonder that these types of professional procrastinators are perpetually late for work. Their problems are likely as simplistic as just refusing to get up on time. I'm no algebra Wizz, but if you live twenty minutes from wok and you only give yourself fifteen to get there, that math won't math' especially if you are stopping for donuts along the way. There is no need to solve for "A" in that equation. Anytime I look up in my rear-view mirror (while I am doing the speed limit mind you) and see someone behind me about to lose their mind because in their eyes I am not going fast enough, this irks the hell out of me. Because, now by default, THEIR problem has become MY problem. I rarely drop "F" bombs in this life but that will usually push me to it.

In the words of the now infamous George Carlin; "anyone going slower than you on the highway is an idiot, anyone going faster is a maniac." But to some degree we all feel that pain, don't we? Nothing burns my biscuits faster than someone who cannot seem to stay in their own lane, only to find out the reason why is because they are looking at their phone instead of the road. What could possibly be that important?! They are likely shopping for new pair of Chinos or an air fryer. They could be trying to decide if the background on their Facebook page should be pink or green. Or maybe they are thinking that the picture they chose for their Instagram account "isn't hot enough." Their generation doesn't scare me much though; I could take out the whole lot of them with nothing more than a peanut.