People who don’t use turn signals.
Now, I’m not being very ridiculous with this one. I don’t know how many times, in my fits of road rage, I’ve shouted, “Nice signal, jackass!”. Like they can even hear me with my windows [and theirs] rolled up. This non-use of a very purposeful tool bothers me even more when the heinous act is committed by someone with whom I’m riding. Sometimes, I even pantomime flicking on a turn signal, just because it bothers me THAT BAD when the person driving doesn’t do it and I feel like I have to make up for their mistake.
Worms on the sidewalk
Oh yes, even the dead ones. Worms on the sidewalk are also part of a different list than “what bothers me” called “things that make me want to vomit.” I’ve always thought “ew” when stepping over/around them, but now I shiver a little each time I pass one. It’s all thanks in part to my parents, who revealed to me that the weird smell after a rain in their part of the state is from worms. I have no idea if they were completely joking or not, but what they said stuck, and now I breathe through my mouth anytime I’m outside post-rain.
The fact that vending machines don’t take cards.
Except the ones on my local college campus, that is. I mean, I don’t know how many times I’ve REALLY wanted some of those Elfkin shortbread cookies [or whatever, they’re Keebler] or a pack of skittles, and I just don’t have a dollar bill or 80 cents. Wait, what’s even WORSE is if I don’t have a dollar bill, but I do have 80 cents, but twenty cents of it is in pennies! Maybe that should bother me, too: vending machines don’t take pennies! Cards would still be more convenient than if I had a huge supplies of quarters, nickels, and dimes, though. Does anyone remember that commercial a few years ago that shows a girl go up to a vending machine, punch a few numbers on her cell phone, and VOILA! a drink comes out? When is THAT going to happen?
Seriously. It’s not even funny anymore. For nightwork, I have to sometimes send off handwritten requests. I wonder if they can even read the names I write. Do they think nightwork is illegally employing first-graders to do their faxes for them? My hand cramped up after just a few sentences, and I had to go extra slow in an attempt to make my writing legible. I think I get it from my dad.
No explanation necessary.
Um, that’s all for now.