“I have as much authority as the Pope. I just don’t have as many people who believe it.” ― George Carlin
Nothing to be proud of, my grouchy responses to everyday events we all encounter. With age, though, my tolerance toward annoyances dwindles. I suppose my reactions are mostly vexations which qualify as petty responses, likely, if that’s what they are. Small-minded, I admit. What an opportunity to rise above my blinkeredness. Off the top of my head, I fail, yes, guilty of giving in to my weak nature. Semantics aside, my bugbears become an impediment to my peaceful state of mind and to those near me.
So it is when I watch television and suffer a bombardment of commercials firing deception into my comfort zones. I’m guessing most people mutter and roll their eyes as the shill on the screen asserts, “Friends, come on down for the biggest savings of the century for these gently used automobiles.” Yes, the claims are mostly colorful exaggerations, if not blatant lies. We know that. One guy begins by saying, “This is the most honest commercial you’ll ever hear.” What, I wonder, is that supposed to mean? Could it be that most commercials are dishonest? I don’t trust people who begin by saying, “Honestly…” And the smiling liars are tough to countenance.
So it is when watching television I hear the phone ring. The voice on the other end of the line wants to know if I’ll answer a few survey questions. Sure, I say, but I am about to grill some hamburgers. Go ahead, I say. I’ll get to food prep after this call. Then the voice asks if my view of a local politician would change if I knew she was a lesbian. Really, a push poll while I’m preparing smash burgers.? I couldn’t slam the receiver down hard enough.
So it is when dinnertime arrives, and we elect to enjoy our meal on the patio because the weather is warm, and a soothing breeze invites us to dine al fresco. About that time, half the neighbors decide to mow lawns, use leaf blowers, and fire up their gas-powered weed-whackers. One neighbor, oblivious to evening mealtimes, has the gall to employ a rented jackhammer to bust up a driveway for repair. Makes us wonder if our small town needs a sturdier noise ordinance.
So it is when I receive a breaking news item declaring Taylor Swift will announce a new world tour. I know you and countless others may care, but really—breaking news! Wars and floods and school shootings and famine and Trump urinating on the Constitution and ships sinking and the breaking news is a pop singer’s world tour announcement. Really? Come on! I suppose if we want to look away from a burning house, a little music might be just the ticket.
So it is when the Fourth of July descends on our town, and hoards of rowdy youth and shit-faced adults materialize from neighboring places to watch our annual fireworks display. They park their cars and Winnebago vans in creative ways, leave litter everywhere they spread their blankets, shoot illegal firecrackers and bottle rockets, and pee in the bushes or against parked cars. Happy birthday, America!
So it is when driving out of town for groceries we find every road blocked with construction projects. “Expect Delays,” the signs read. Yes, expect delays every day, everywhere, all the time because we all need to drive our SUVs and monster trucks to the 7-11 to buy a power drink and a box of Skittles.
So it is when people, online programs, voices on the phone, text messages tell me they “need” me to do this or that. At least three times a week, a politician hectors me with that opening phrase, “Steve, I need you to see this latest data about the primary election…” Try this approach next time you order a burger at Burger King. Say to the teenager behind the counter. “I need you to cook me a big burger and make me a thick shake.”
And those voices are not the only ones who need me to do one thing, or else, or another. My computer, my phone, my car, my I-Pad, my Fitbit all insist that I drop what I’m doing to install a software update. They all insist I need to do this update now. They want me to enter a password to proceed. Put simply, not only do people insist I do what they want me to do, but now the robots and bots insist I do what they need me to do. Though I admit I am more contrary than cooperative, the compulsory tone of all these demands is off-putting and part of modern living I resent.
All right, I admit I’ve graduated from the status of killjoy to a full-scale curmudgeon. Why can’t the world be what I want it to be rather than what it is?
“Okay, boomer,” you say. Yep, that’s me and unashamedly so.
By the way, kid, get offa my lawn!