Wednesday, February 16, 2011

White People Problems

    Earlier, I’ve written about the little things that make life worth fist pumping silently to yourself. But as we all know, one cannot go through life in a perpetual state of “Aaawwww yeah”-itdue, and instead must be brought down to earth from time to time. Sometimes, being brought down to earth comes to your life like my fist to your face, but most often it sneaks in like some kind of fun killing ninja. So what are some of the things that make me the maddest for the least reasons?

Aaawwww yeah-itude

1. Forceful Earbud Withdraw
     Music is everywhere in today’s culture. You can’t walk down a street or across a campus without seeing people in their own little world, provided by small white earplugs. Now, I’ve got no beef with this occurrence. If I was a small town Midwestern mayor, I’d still allow Kevin Bacon to stick those things in his ears before punch-dancing his way into the hearts and minds of the other teenagers.

"I thought this was a party! LET'S IGNORE EACH OTHER!!!"

    Heck, I’ve been known to wear the darn things from time to time, mostly mowing or on a run. Both things that require me shirtless… Ladies. Anyhoo, with earbuds comes the cord connected to your mp3 player (iPod) of choice. I know I’ve already done a blog on what science should study, but I swear those cords possess some skeleton key to the laws of physics. They manage to be far too short whenever the area is clear, yanking them out of my ears at the slightest stretch. If you’ve never had this happen to you, you may not understand true frustration. One second you’re rocking out to Journey or Foxy Shazam and for an instant, your ears feel like they’re being ripped off, only to leave you back in the real world, hearing yourself pant for breath.
    Earbud cords have the magical ability to gain ridiculous amounts of slack in the presence of branches, lawnmower handles, and door knobs. They apparently have the innate power to lasso themselves around any and every object in your path. Now, not only will you have to chance hearing a stranger begin a conversation, risk missing that awesome guitar lick, and hope your ears stayed on your head, but you’ll also have to untangle the cord from whatever object it wrapped itself around. Ignoring the world around you has its risks, no doubt.

2. A Lack of Thanks
     Everyone knows I’m a prideful man. I require others to refer to me as “your royal sex machine.” Heck, it’s even on my business cards. So it’s going to be a reach of the imagination to understand that even if I wasn’t prideful, I’d still get mad at people not thanking me for things.
     There’s no doubt that everyone has sneezed. A good sneeze should be included on a list of life’s simplest pleasures, if such a thing exists. Common courtesy tells us that we should tell the sneezers “bless you” after whichever hysterically loud sneeze they choose. If I don’t get told bless you, I don’t mind as much. Chances are they’re busy or think I’m weird for sneezing during a funeral.
     Let me digress for a second. Is there any better place to sneeze than during church? The bless yous actually have some weight behind them. I’m going to snort pepper before I meet the Pope. That’d be like a get-into-heaven free card.

"Please stop doing that." - Pope

    But if I take time out of my busy “try to see down the girl in front of me’s shirt” schedule to respond to your sneeze, the least you could do is thank me. I don’t care how heartfelt the thanks are, as long as they’re spoken. No, a nod and a murmur don’t count. I can get that from cats, and they’re buttmunches.
    More than sneezing, I expect thanks for holding open the door for you. Most likely, I’m taking a few seconds that could be better used mistyping my Facebook password three times to make your day just a little bit better. Why not say thanks for me not being a complete poopface?

3. The Jerkbag Slide
     If I expect thanks for holding open the door, then you can bet I’d appreciate it if you held open the door for me. But we’ve all been there. Some jerk knows you’re right behind him yet decides he’ll just slip into the rapidly closing door instead of pushing it even the slightest bit more open. I call this maneuver the jerkbag slide. You just know that in that buttmunch’s mind he’s playing the Indiana Jones theme song and wishing he had a fedora to grab at the last second. The worst part of all this is that the door will shut before you, the sexy, respectable member of society, can realize what happened and spit out a sarcastic and/or passive aggressive remark.

4. Brown Belt with Black Clothes
     You’re a grown ass man. Get a reversible belt. Figure it out.


5. Receiving Way Too Much Change
    I value my pocket space very heavily. I need tight jeans to show off my tight butt, and that doesn’t leave much room for spare change. So when I have to break a bill at some extremely small number, say .06, I get very aggravated. Now I have to carry 94 cents around with me until I get home. But as I’m very absent minded, I’ll probably buy something else with 20 cents at the end, and break another full dollar. It’s a no win cycle. But I refuse to be one of those people who buys a single stamp with their debit card, which makes me angry in a very different way, but I’m not quite sure what that way is.

6. The Press Conference Text
     Technology is a wonderful thing. These days everyone is within reach of an almost instantaneous message, whether it be email, phone calls, or texts. Unfortunately, some members of society fail to grasp the prospect of other forms of communication and rely solely on text. The most annoying text in existence is what I call the press conference text (or PCT for short): “Where are you? Where are you going? How’s your day? Why don’t you have a job? Are you planning on getting one? Are there any horse socks?” If I get a text like this, I answer those suckers the way they asked. “At home. Nowhere. Good. I’m an illegal immigrant, so no. Is anybody listening?” But, of course, the mini-reporter who has your number is bound to get mad at your lack of detail. Just call or email me. Jeeze.



Mick Dickinson

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