Annoying Plane Passenger

With an upcoming trip planned, I recently started getting anxiety about the flight that I will take to my sunny destination. The anxiety, however, has nothing to do with being afraid of flying. In fact, I usually find the flight itself a fairly enjoyable experience. Instead, my anxiety stems from a deep hatred of sitting next to someone unwanted on the plane; a fear that is admittedly a bit on the childish side.

Although childish, this phobia actually has some warranted fears that associate themselves with the ever-present anxiety:
For example, I am always afraid that I will be stuck sitting next to some fatty Arbuckle who simply should not be sitting in one regulation size chair. This oversized carry-on is surely a fair fear for those who fly the cloudy skies on a daily basis. I mean, should I really be forced to squeeze myself between a hambone and an uncomfortable arm rest? I should hope not.

Additionally, there is always the screaming baby to keep one’s nerves on edge throughout the duration of an three hour trek. This delightful bundle of bawling is just enough to make me want to punch the mother right in the face for even having the kid. And I love kids, by the way. It’s not the kid’s fault, thus, he should never be punished. But if you know your kid is going to be screaming the entire plane ride, drive a car. Or better yet, take a train-at least you can get up and walk around. If not, enjoy the Joe Louis that strikes your teeth when you get up to use the restroom.

The worst case scenario for me, however, is the unwanted airplane conversation. God, I hate this. Let me set it up:

I walk onto the plane, searching for my seat-which I already know sucks because it’s a B seat, and B always falls in the middle of two people (see section on fatties)- when all of a sudden I see him; the man who is almost standing up, eagerly waiting for his aisle-mate. Fuck! I think to myself. He’s is totally going to want to talk to me. Damn it, God. Why me? Why this guy?
Nonetheless, I pull down the fisher price latch on the overhead compartment so that everyone else’s shit from five aisles down falls on top of me, stow my bag, and take a seat on the devil’s throne for my journey. Immediately, this douche bags starts asking me questions:

DB: So, where you from?
EI: Michigan.
DB: Oh, me too.
EI: Yeah, we’re leaving Detroit.
DB: Where you headed?
EI: This plane’s going to Myrtle Beach right?
DB: Sure is.
EI: Myrtle Beach.
DB: Me too!
EI: Yeah, I figured.
DB: Gonna golf?
EI: Yup.
DB: Me too.
EI: Cool.
DB: (Pointing to my hat) You like Michigan State?
EI: Yup.
This continues for a good 30 minutes.

Now, it’s not so much that I’m an unfriendly person. But, normally, if someone is giving me short, staccato responses, I shut up. But not on a plane; nope, this guy figures he’s got three hours in which I am trapped and have no choice but to listen to him babble on about how he can’t get his teenage daughter to listen to him. Leaving me with one of two choices:

1) Listen and complain about it later.
OR
2) Act as if I have some sort of a sleep disorder and slowly, but with purpose, nod my eyes and start to lower my head to my chest. I’ve done this before; sometimes, it works. Sure, I look like some sort of invalid who has a strange condition, but it’s well worth the silence that befalls once I convince my torturer that I’m actually asleep. I try snoring a bit as well, sometimes that will trick this fool.

All in all, this is one of those situations that seems to be unavoidable. However, it still sucks. Please don’t be that guy! I hate that, idiot.


everydayidiot@gmail.com

The People Who Make Cold Medicine...

I hate these people; they are idiots. I have a terrible cold today, and none of the medicine, that costs a ridiculous amount of money, works. Thus, today's idiots are indeed the people who manufacture and sell this mediocre product. I hate you, people.

The Shirtless Fan...

Okay, let’s get one thing straight: I love sports. I’m not talking about the type of love where I watch my favorite teams when their on TV. I’m talking about season tickets for everything, yelling at the TV, pissed off mood after a loss, hating people who like the opposition, love. But, there’s one thing that you’ll never catch me doing: going shirtless at a game.

Now, I sort of get the concept- show your dedication by painting your body with your team’s colors to prove that you really care if they win or lose. But why go shirtless? Can’t you just buy a shirt with your team’s logo on it? My hatred for this fan has led me to analyze what type of person actually does this. My findings were vaster than I thought, leading me to conclude that there are multiple types of people who practice this demonstration. They are as follows:




THE FAT PAINTED GUY:
This guy is just disgusting. This is the guy who knows that he's way too fat to be painted, but it's the only way he'll get everyone's attention. It's actually quite sad: the man knows full well that he shouldn't have his shirt off, but having people laugh at him is better than not getting any looks at all.




THE TOUGHER THAN THE COLD IDIOTS:
These guys are so stupid. It's twenty degrees outside, the wind is howling, and these guys think they look cool with their shirts off. They want everyone to think that they're tougher than they really are, so they won't succumb to the bitter temperatures. The problem is: everybody else knows that they're just idiots.






PAINTED GIRLS:
Oh, boy. Stop it, girls. You should be watching the game, not posing for pictures. "Hey, look at us we painted our skin. Hehehe." Stop it.




And finally...



THE DOUCHE BAG:
This DB is the guy who simply takes off his shirt at a game because he thinks he looks good. There is no point to this shirtless spectator, he simply thinks his shit smells like potpourri. The majority of the time, this guys doesn't even watch the game; he's too busy "scoping out chicks." This might be the worst shirtless fan of all time. Not only do we have to look at this loser's shitty tribal tattoo, but he's usually yelling something in caveman at the players. This guys sucks.

I guess my point is that people need to leave their shirts on at sporting events. There are better ways to show your support-like cheering. Idiots.

everydayidiot@gmail.com

The wrong side of the aisle...

This one’s been bugging me for a long time. Luckily for me, my wife does most of the grocery shopping in our home. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t make it out of the store without a set of cuffs slapped onto my wrists. You see, there are many types of shoppers that piss me off. Some of them I can just fluff aside, and be on with my day. Others, however, deserve to be slapped, kicked, punched, and unnecessarily dragged throughout the store by their hair for all to see; similar to a champion buck hunter who proudly displays his kill. I like to call this particular shopper: The Wrong Side of the Aisle guy.

Living in the United States presents one the opportunity to live as freely as possible without causing harm to others. However, we still have our rules, and they should be carried out in a fashion that carries over into many avenues of life. For example, it’s illegal to just sit in the middle of a road. Obviously, this is for safety reasons, but it’s also to avoid being a pain in the ass that people have to avoid while driving. Similarly, we see this law carry over into the everyday social graces that are expected in something, like say, a shopping mall. No one sits down in the middle of a mall floor, and if they do, they are usually punished by a security guard, or sometimes a swift kick to the dome. However, for some reason, not all of these rules seem to carry over. In particular, the rule that we drive on the right side of the road, does not often translate into our everyday behavior.

I’ll use the grocery store to illustrate my point, but there are many other situations where this may apply: walking down the sidewalk, walking in the mall, and walking in the halls of a school. The grocery store, however, is the worst case scenario for me. Let me set the scene:

There I am walking down the aisle of my beloved Kroger store. I’m walking on the right side of the aisle, pushing my cart, looking at the shelves intently for my favorite canned food-Hormel Chili. As I approach the midway point in the aisle, I barely see a woman in the corner of my peripheral and I slam on the brakes just before bumping carts. Whoa, I think to myself, that was close. However, the woman has no regard for the fact that SHE almost caused a run-in with me. Instead, she babbles the words, “You betta whatcho self.”

Now, imagine you’re me. According to the rules of the road, we are to travel on the right side of the highway. Thus, common sense would inform us that we should probably walk on the right side of the aisle. After all, this is America. Yet, this woman finds me at fault for a near detrimental (she had a glass jar of pasta sauce balancing on top of her cart) accident, that could have been avoided had she been on the proper side of the aisle. Not only that, but she shoots me some sort of shopper’s warning about watching myself, leaving me to infer that if I don’t, she made do something drastic-like throw her pasta sauce at me.

My point is, if we take the time to use a little f’ing common sense, we would realize that applying known rules to relatively similar situations will ultimately make a better everyday experience. I shouldn’t have to get pissed when I go to Kroger. It’s a bright, noisy, fun-loving store with ridiculous deals on bacon. The last thing I want to do is watch myself because some ignoramus doesn’t know how to apply the rules of common courtesy.

everydayidiot@gmail.com

Hazard Lights...

Again, I live in Michigan; the weather sucks. Take today for example: today we got about a foot of snow in about ten, or so, hours. A foot! Do you know how shitty it is to get a foot of snow? Let me tell you: first of all, a foot of snow means that one has to shovel the driveway every hour for about ten hours. Second, it means that one also has to deal with the damn plow truck trapping him in his own property by making a fortress wall at the end of the driveway. Finally, it means that every single douche bag in the state will be on the roads.

There are many different types of driver that can fall under the douche bag umbrella on a snowy day, but I would first like to discuss one that really irritated me today: The Hazard Lights Idiot. Now, my friend Lindsey was the one who first pointed this idiot out to me, so I must give her credit for the initial hatred. However, throughout the course of a two hour drive, I too became upset with this jerk. This is the guy that who feels it's necessary to have his hazard lights on the entire time he's driving in the snow. Sure it seems like a petty crime, but remember: almost everything that pisses me off is petty.

Here's why this guy sucks: First, I can't figure out why he has them on. I mean, is it to warn everyone that there is snow on the ground? If so, then that's just f'ing stupid. I can see the damn snow on the ground, ass bag. Or, perhaps it's because he wants people to know that he's going slow because of the snow. Again, we're all going slow; he's still an idiot. Thus, because of this, I don't think these reasons are plausible. Instead, I think this simpleton leaves his hazards on because he knows he drives about as well as a fat kid rides a horse, and that's not good.

It's almost like this guy uses this stupid little button as a shield to protect the fact that deep in his heart of hearts, he knows he sucks at life. You see, one's driving skills are simply an extension of his ability to kick ass at life. The guy who drives fast, lives life fast. The guy who drives cautiously, usually lives life in a slow, cautious manor. The guy who drives like an idiot however, will almost always fail the kick-ass-human test. And this, my friends, is why the guy who uses his hazard lights continuously while driving in the snow sucks. Please stop doing this, you're an idiot.

everydayidiot@gmail.com

Here's a tip...

So, yesterday I went out to eat with my wife at a lovely restaurant in a large department store. Everything was great: the food was tasty, the tea I had was warm, and most importantly, there were no little kids running around causing a ruckus. The problem came when we had a waiter change right in the middle of our meal. Now, normally this probably wouldn’t bother me, and even at that moment it didn’t bother me at all. The issue I had came when I was about to pay the bill.

My wife and I had a gift certificate to this particular establishment, and the new waiter rang up the card no problem. However, as he brought the bill back he asked, “Do you want me to write the tip on the receipt, or are you leaving it on the table.” Whoa, I thought, hold the phone young man. Who said I was going to tip at all? And this guy is audacious enough to ask me how I was going to leave the tip. That pissed me off.

I know, I know; it was probably a harmless question that was only asked because he had to do something “special” if the tip was going to be left on the card. But it got me thinking, why do servers always expect a tip? I mean, isn’t a tip an added bonus? Sure, I would be a rude jackass to not leave a tip, but nonetheless, it shouldn’t be an expectation. Instead, a tip is meant to be a reward for a job well-done. So, therefore, shouldn’t I be able to leave nothing if the job isn’t well done?

The other day my buddy was telling my about his experience at a chain steak house-you know, the one with the “Australian” commercials. Anyway, he, his wife, and another couple went to enjoy some delicious, cheap steaks for dinner. However, he said the waiter was one of the worst waiters he’s ever had in his life. The service was extremely slow, it took forever to get their meal, and when they got the meal it wasn’t the way they had ordered it. He-my friend- told me, “You know, we almost skipped out on the bill it was so bad.” Normally, I would take these comments with a grain of salt, but not from this guy. He wasn’t one to be confrontational at all. He just really had poor service. So I asked him, “Did you stiff him on the tip?” His response, “No, we left $9.00 on a $90.00 bill though.”

Nine bucks!? That’s still nearly 10%. Some old people only leave 10% on a normal night. This bothered me. It was obvious that my friend had still left a tip-even though his service was atrocious- because he felt like he “owed” it to the waiter. Bull$h!t! That doesn’t fly in my world. I don’t owe anyone. I’m sorry, but if you want a good tip from me, give me good service. Oh, and don’t ask how I’m going to leave the tip, you may not get one at all, idiot.

Rachael Ray...idiot

Sorry, I just have to vent my frustration. Does anyone else feel hatred for the woman? I mean, I know I don't really know her, so I shouldn't say HATE. But seriously, I wanna break her face every time I see it. Come on, do we really want to support another Oprah Winfrey coattail-riding liar?

First of all, Ray claims that her meals can all be made in thirty minutes. Really? Then why does she never fully prepare and cook the meals on her 30 minute show? Because she's a damn liar. I've even heard her say things like, "Now prep time on this is 15-20 minutes." And then she'll present a sauce, or additional item and say, "Prep time on this is only 20 minutes!" Now, I'm no mathematician, but doesn't 20+20= 40? Even if you take the short end of the first dish, 20+15= 35. Either way, it's more than 30 you bitch.

The only thing worse than catching a glimpse of Rachael when my wife is watching the food channel is seeing her stupid face on a Triscuit box when I'm at the store. You're relatively fat, Rachael, you don't eat Triscuits, stop lying.

Oh, and stop saying E.V.O.O. Seriously, stop it. This little acronym epitomizes Rachael's everyday attitude. "Let's try to do things in the simplest, laziest way." You're supposed to be a chef, Rachael, and food preparation takes time, idiot. Thus, quit lying about your 30 min. meals. Say, "Extra Virgin Olive Oil." Do a sit-up. Stop sucking at life.

Additionally, this no talent ass-clown had the gall to call out one of her employees at work. The man had an eating disorder and was struggling to work at a cooking show. Rachael's sympathetic response, "Anorexics are sick in the head...they shouldn't be allowed to work" (Huffington Post). These comments have landed her in a million dollar law suit. Hopefully she'll lose. I mean, sure, have your own opinions. But, Rachael, you're supposed to be a frickin' "celebrity," you should know better than to run your mouth. How stupid can you be? Shut your mouth and make Ravioli.

Rachael Ray, you are truly an everyday idiot.

everydayidiot@gmail.com

The Idiot of the year...

Wow! 2008 was the craziest year that I have ever experienced. For starters, I finished my first full year of real work. Then, I got married. Yup, I took the plunge. It only seemed natural. After all, I had been dating my girlfriend for close to a decade. However, I guess I underestimated just how consumer-driven and capitalistic the wedding industry is.
For starters, holy shit does it cost a lot to have a wedding! Halls, chapels, pictures, flowers, guests, food, the stupid little things you leave on the tables that no one remembers. It all adds up to a ridiculous sum of money that is mostly never recouped. But, we do it all for love, right? Wrong. We get married for love. We spend obscene amounts of money on weddings, because we're told we need to. It's like we feel obligated to contribute to what is surely a billion dollar industry.
For example, if you simply type "Planning a Wedding" in the Google search engine, the first "non-sponsored" link that comes up is, The Knot.com. Holy hell what a joke this website is. In fact, I don't even know how women search through this damn thing. It's like it's written in another language: advertisements, links to other sites, and wedding jargon. I'm surprised anyone gets any advice at all. But see, I think that's the point. This website guides its surfer through a maze of unwanted material, while at the same time, it ingrains the thoughts of commercial America into the reader's brain. Genius? I suppose so. I fell victim.
You see, I fell into the trap of doing what I was supposed to do. The websites say to get a fancy hall-we got a fancy hall. The websites say to order oodles of flowers for not only the bride, but for every table at the hall-we did that. The websites also say that one is supposed to get a wonderful photographer and order tons of pictures in big fancy books-done.
So here's what it all comes down to: add in music, paper products, church singers blah, blah, blah-you're looking at nearly $30,000. $30 f'ing thousand dollars! What a joke. I would have rather taken the thirty thousand, whisked my wife-to-be off on a trip to... anywhere, and have a romantic getaway. But no, we spent tens of thousands of dollars on a lot of unnecessary things because we were supposed to.
I guess you could say that the idiot of the year then is: Me. Not because I got married-I love my wife. But because I allowed myself to fall victim to one of the biggest rip-offs in our modern society.

everydayidiot@gmail.com