What Bugs You?

On a sunny Saturday, after waking up in the dark and realizing it was after 6, reading about the death of one of my young artist friends due to brain cancer, then listening to silly car comedy that I don’t understand, a soothing wakeup ride dodging the wood marbles that are starting to drop out of the trees like bombs on the metal monsters parked along the street, a quick stop at the store for frozen pizzas and flirty conversation, I return to a quiet yard that needs some cleaning but is too hot. (That is my excuse for today and I’m sticking to it).

Instead it is music, football, beer and thinking about a blog a friend of mine did yesterday. He was frustrated and it expanded to place he doesn’t like to go. It is an interesting subject and is unique to each individual so I’ll look at what bugs me.

I consider myself a pretty tolerant guy. I’ve put up with a lot of stuff through the years and realized I had no control over it, so it just happened and didn’t upset me. It probably did upset me at the time, but it was not worth the bother. I can remember two times when I did boil over and then learned to walk away.

So what bugs me today?

Bad service bugs me. I was talking with my family the other day at a restaurant that I frequent about what makes an eating establishment worth returning to. Many times it is not about the food because it is difficult to make delicacies within the time to not leave the patrons bored or have a variety of items for the proletariat palette. The atmosphere of ferns and lighting, soft music, or quirky pictures on the wall cannot match what the server can do to make or break the experience. The personality, knowledge, and attentiveness of a waitperson can increase the dining enjoyment, make the food taste better, and insure a bigger tip. Anyone can take an order, deliver the request to the kitchen, pick up the plate and plop it on a table. The reason I’m in a restaurant is I don’t want to cook or want to enjoy some company in a comfortable environment. The server is the ambassador of the establishment and can mean many happy customers or empty tables. Today, I’m much more critical on operations who prepare food, and bad service will guarantee that I will not return.

Waiting bugs me. I am not very fond of waiting. Waiting for a flight, waiting for a bus, waiting for a contractor, waiting for a spouse to get prepared, the list goes on and on, but I’m not one that likes it. I like schedules and organization. Precise expectations are how I order my life. Otherwise, I’m watching paint dry.

Elderly grocery shoppers bug me. Since my life is so simple and the only place I go is the grocery store, my tolerance is tested by the other shoppers. I’m not bigoted against the old. Shoot, I am old. I avoid the bumper cars they drive around the store. I watch ahead for those who are pulling their cart. I’ll stop when I see someone looking behind them as if they had just past a really good bargain and it just soaked in. When I see someone staring at a shelf or a can with that deer in the headlights look, I will turn around and go another way. If I am standing in a aisle trying to decide which soup to put in the cart and another person starts invading my personal space, I dart off like a scared rabbit. I know the grocery store is one of those places where unfamiliar people must mingle, but the sooner I am in and out is good for me.

Screaming children bug me. Never having the experience of living or raising children, I may not understand the little beings. To me, the parents are responsible for the behavior of their children in public places. From what I remember, my parents expected me or taught me to be quiet and sit still. They provided me with food or a piece of paper and a pencil and I was happy, and quiet. Today with all the music players and portable devices for games and videos, I would think kids would be mesmerized with the gruel that keeps them busy at home. Warning for parents! If I am in a public space and your rug-rat is running wild and screaming, I will call the police and accuse you of child abuse.

People who can’t find their way bug me. There seems to be a new trend going with all the EPS apps and Google maps, there should be no excuse to not know where you are going. If you don’t know, you should unfold a map and find out, but not in the middle of the street. I assume everyone who is driving the streets is on the phone, blind, and old, on meds, tired, and drunk.  When I come to a corner and an auto also comes to the corner, I pull over to the curb and wait. Many times there are no flashing signals indicating where the driver intends to travel, so I wait. As you know, I don’t like waiting. The couple in the car sat for a good ten minutes, talking on the phone, getting text messages, logging on social media, or I don’t know what while I patiently waited in the sunshine for them to make some kind of a move. I understand that climbing into one of these mobile machines is a cocoon of technology and comfort traveling, but again, the responsible person must realize that others are on the road.

It is not a long list. I could go into silly politics or crazy talking heads or even the nasty noise of backpack leaf blowers, but they all go away if you ignore them. Most of what bugs me are people not items or locations or even cultural happenings.

This must be why I live alone.