1. Street parking. If you’ve never lived with it, you can’t appreciate the misery. My street is dominated by two apartment buildings. The one directly across is only half in use because fire destroyed one side; the one on the corner, between front and back, has 10-12 apartments in it. There’s parking in the alley for the back, but that still leaves 3 or 4 using the street. Each apartment has 2 cars. You get the idea. If I go out after work, and get home anytime after 6ish, forget parking in the same zip code as my house. If I have 3 or more bags of groceries, I’m writing a postcard out for my car. It’s fun in the morning, though, because I’m too dysfunctional to remember where I ended up parking. Better yet, someone either works for Fedex or has stolen one of their trucks, because that damned thing is now hogging a couple spaces out there, too.
2. Instructions for the dumb. Yeah, we’ve all made the jokes about the woman who spilled the McDonald’s coffee, blah blah blah, you know coffee is hot, don’t spill it on yourself, etc. I won’t get into that. I really don’t know what the circumstances are. I’ve slopped scalding coffee on myself plenty of times, although I catch myself before I spill enough to do serious damage. My peeve is when warning labels have to get plastered all over items because one windowlicker screwed it up. Lighters say “do not ignite near face”….well, that’s where the cigarette is. Am I supposed to light it from across the street? Who the hell torched their eyebrows and why should the rest of us pay for that? Silica gel…do not eat? Why on earth would you have to be told that? Crazy car commercials that feel the need to tell us “don’t try this at home” (because along with my street parking I have an entire obstacle course behind the house). And best of all, this one has always stuck with me: on a bottle of Premesyn, which is PMS medication, it says “not to take if you have an enlarged prostate.”
3. Spammers. I don’t think spam is nearly as prevalent as it used to be, which is a good thing, but man, there are just a few who won’t quit. You would think from my email that I’m a lonely male over 50 looking for love with my erectile dysfunction who desperately wants to see his credit report while flipping thru a million channels on Dish. News flash: I’m not. And that doesn’t even really irritate me; thats almost kind of funny. Its when I go in and purposely block the sender, and they slip around it by throwing a crapload of dashes into the sender name, so now its Ma–tc–ch.-c—c—om singles in your area! C’mon, people, use your powers for good. If I blocked you, no amount of dashes will ever make me visit your site, let alone actually do business with you.