The little things

It's the little things in life that drive us crazy. The things that if we actually had the time to think about, we would. Well, I've got some time...

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Movie time


I haven't been to the movies in forever and its raining, so I'm going to round up a few friends and see a flick. What's that about? Rain equals terrible drivers and people flocking to the movies? If I owned a theater, I'd look at a weather forecast and jack the prices up the day before and the day after its supposed to rain...and don't worry, we'll get to the cost in a minute. So who hasn't seen what yet? Fun game! Almost as fun as driving next to an Asian woman in the rain going to the same theater with her left turn signal on the entire way.  After that rousing game, our movie is picked, but the time isn't. Awesome! The movie is playing at great times: 5:15pm and 12:35am. Can the times of movies suck anymore?


We arrive at the theater (while that Asian woman is still trying to park) and confirm the correct (and sucky) time is on the board. It's there; let's get the tickets and get good seats. Call me crazy, but I think $10+ is insane for a movie that can completely suck. If I have to pay that much, I should be able to leave at any point of the movie and get a proportional refund. Now that I'm getting over the cost, we have to find the right theater (which, after spending over $10, I think I'm entitled to someone named Jeeves escorting me to my seat with my jacket over their arm and a moist towelette for me).


Now you have to decide which group you're going to be in. You can either get some snacks or save the seats. Let's be the one to get the food right now. Me and the other person/people with money hop on the end of a line that appears to be moving. Emphasis on the "appears" because this line, after an eternity, just has not moved (how the hell is that Asian woman in front of me?!).  Now that I have a full beard and made it to the front, I blurt out my order that I kept reciting to myself while waiting.Of course I have to break it down item by item with several seconds between words for Destynee to understand. For an extra 50 cents, I can have the large coke? Sure, I’ll take that so I can quench the thirst of the entire theater and Rhode Island. Only have the large, $6 bottles of water? I guess I have no choice then, right? (scam)

Let’s rewind and be part of the group that attempts to save the seats. We’ve walked that long, narrow hallway and made the “turn and stare”. You know, when you first see all of the seats and the realization sets in that there aren’t enough seats together for the number of people in your party. You feel uncomfortable trying to map out a game plan in front of everyone, who is undoubtedly laughing on the inside because you look like a deer in headlights. Just at the right time, you spot more than enough seats in a particular area and make your way there. Are those people in the other aisle walking toward the same seats? I’m going to walk quicker and pretend to not see them while I go in for the kill. Seats acquired! Now the fun begins: defending those seats. You sit spread out in a strategic way as to give newcomers the deer in headlights look, hoping they don’t see your seats. As people approach, you accidently make eye contact and have to prepare to defend your territory. Right as they start to enter the aisle for those seats, you give the semi-apologetic “I’m saving these seats” as you wave your hand over the seat next to you. They aren’t happy, but you did your job and feel good. Your friends are on the bottom and just did the turn and stare, so you save them and wave them over.

Your friends get to the seats (why did they get such large beverages?) and you do the shuffle for the right seating arrangement. Why the hell is the floor so sticky? Did someone dump their keg of soda on the floor and lick it up? Lights dim. Time for that green screen and thirty previews. I love the dead silence after a terrible preview because it just leaves everyone confused and feeling like they could easily make their own movie. The feature finally starts. Not sure if I’m the only one who can never get comfortable, so I apologize to whomever has had the unfortunate seat behind me. (Note that I am not a seat kicker, and those people that do kick the seat in front of you, please leave your name and address below, thanks)

Movie ended and I look at the time. How is it that the time is never what I expect it to be (always later)? I know there are previews and whatnot and I have nowhere to go, but it’s the principle. Oh, the garbage is overflowing by the exit? Nice. We make our way to the lobby, which is brighter than a solar flare, and discuss some of the movie while waiting for someone to get out of the bathroom. We get in the car and approach the street. Sure enough, that Asian woman is in the right lane making a left turn and I’m stuck there, listening to my friends discussing the movie as I try to remember those specific parts. $10, a bladder problem, and not remembering/understanding key parts of the movie…well worth it.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Restless Restroom

This post might be pretty crappy. Public restrooms are a dynamic element to society. Certain universal rules apply once you enter that doorframe, yet many people either don’t care, don’t know them, or don’t know them well enough. Let’s talk about some of the things that drive us public restroom law-abiding citizens b a n a n a s. (yes, I did sing the Gwen Stefani song as I wrote that)

It’s natural to do a quick scan when you first enter the restroom. You of course hope no one else is in there. I hate to have to enter that awkward “hey, how’s it goin” exchange. I’m not going to ignore the person, that’s just rude. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for those over-pleasantry people. You know, those who actually give you a real response in passing. If I say “how’s it goin” as I’m passing, I don’t actually care how it’s going. Just give me the standard “good” and keep walking, lets keep it simple and quick for everyone, we’re all busy. It’s frustrating when the other person stops walking to talk to me when I’m actually trying to get somewhere. If I indeed wanted to talk to you at that specific time, I would have come over to you. The bathroom is not a place for a conversation! I want to get in and get out as quickly as possible, it’s not twenty questions time.

You’ve done your scan, and now you are going to do your business. It’s your business; I will not get into specifics of it. As you are attending to that business, you hear a clicking sound. You know you’ve heard that clicking sound before…yep, someone is texting. Really? Come on, don’t make it so obvious. Phones in the bathroom are a faux pas, and if you must bring them in, keep things quiet! Wish I had a chance to make that point to a coworker I saw who once walked into the stall while on the phone and continued his conversation…still in the stall!

Speaking of stalls, please, PLEASE leave the middle one open! If stall 1 is occupied, you use stall 3, not stall 2. You only use stall 2 if stall 3 is also occupied. That’s a rule. Definitely is written somewhere, and if you haven’t read it before, I’ll get the source for you, just keep checking back. ;) Even if 1 and 3 are occupied, you should strongly consider coming back in a few minutes.

Hand wash time. Those automatic faucets can be annoying. They don’t allow you to choose your water temperature, and often go off randomly. My hands haven’t moved, why did the water stop? Ever use those sinks where you have to keep pushing the little hot and cold nubs down every few seconds? Yeah, I’d like to meet the jerkoff that invented those. I’d also like to smack the designers of super short faucets. Why are my hands hitting the back of the sink? There is so much open area in the sink, yet I have to contort my hands and wrists to get water on them because the faucet is shooting a stream of water three-quarters of an inch from the porcelain.

Lastly, but certainly not least, drying time. Not sure what the big deal is about putting a bunch of paper towels on a table with a garbage pail next to it. We have automatic dryers that are strong enough to power Rhode Island that make that little dent in your skin because of the thrust. Those are cool and effective, but way too loud. I guess those can be good because they would prove that you washed your hands since everyone this side of the Mississippi can hear them. Speaking of proof, ever see someone walk out without washing his or her hands? Even if you aren’t going to use soap, pretend you are washing them, don’t just walk right out. Those people must absolutely hate the paper towel dispensers where you have to spin that little wheel on the side that always seems to not give adequate towels. Am I the only one who doesn’t touch the knob on the dispensers that require you to push down to make the paper towels come out? I use the side of my arm because it makes me feel that the germs somehow won’t get on me that way.

Can restaurants start putting garbage pails closer to the door? I want to dry my hands with a paper towel and use that towel to grab the door handle. I hate having to lean back and toss the towel in the garbage. I miss every once in a while and then I’m stuck in that dilemma. I achieved my goal of opening the door without touching the handle, I’m free to go, but I technically littered. That towel touched the ground and has more germs than before. If I go back and pick it up, I really should wash my hands again…but if no one saw it, who said it was me…right?

Monday, January 10, 2011

The grocery store

"Doesn't that suck?" is usually one of the first things I think of when I drive into a grocery store parking lot. Why? Because there always seems to be a stray shopping cart making a fast-break toward an innocent parked car. To prevent that from being my car, I try to park rather far away from other cars. Sure, sometimes that may be way on the other end of the lot, but whatever, if I can have that piece of mind while I'm walking six miles through the lot to the store, then so be it. Anyway, right before I walk into the store, I have a huge decision to make: take a cart or grab a basket inside. No matter what decision I make, I am wrong. When I take a cart, I end up with 3 items and it's more of a nuisance than anything, but when I opt for a basket, I end up carrying watermelons wishing I had a cart.

So, what is the usual grocery store visit like once I'm inside? Well, I'd let you know if I could get past the old lady standing in the middle of the entrance looking around and ever so slowly making her way to the free pistachios. By the time I juke around her, it's on to the produce! Do those little plastic bags really cost that much money to the point that there can't be a stand of them every ten feet? I've already picked up the apples I want, yet I have to walk all the way over to where the collard greens are to get a bag. Of course as I'm ripping the bag off the roll, the lettuce I'm standing next to must get a misting...as well as my shirt. And who thought it was a good idea to have a soundbite of a guy saying "I'm singing in the rain" before that mist starts? That doesn't really alert me too much. It instead makes me laugh for a moment, then get pissed when my hand is getting misted. Maybe something along the lines of "get the hell away from here, we will be watering the vegetables from those little spigots above. BACK UP!". That would get my attention...

Ok, I'd like a few Kaiser rolls...but where did the tongs go that should be on the end of this phone cord looking thingie? Great, it broke off and the next closest one is two feet over and out of phone cord thingie reach. Alright, I'll just reach in and take one, no one is around...except the old woman still throwing her pistachio shells on the floor. "You know, you're supposed to use the tongs". Thanks granny, and just because you are old doesn't give you the right to smell bad. What's with that? Old people smell? I mean, come on, you have to realize that the smell that follows you around all over the place...well...is you!

I want some chicken. Boneless chicken breast. I pick up a package that looks fine and of course my hand is soaked in chicken disgustingness. Really guys? Can't package this any better? Just that yellow styrofoam thing and one layer of plastic wrap? If that's the case, I think I should be entitled to some readily available hand wipes. "Hmm, $7.39? Do I need that much? This other package right next to it is $7.12." You know how many times I've actually seen people do this? It's amazing, do you actually believe that there is a material, noticeable difference between the two? There isn't.

Checkout time. 3pm on a Sunday, seems like a good time to only have three registers open out of fifteen. Picked the one that looks like it has potential to move (aka, the lane with the fewest screaming kids). Finally my turn. Do I have a super-de-duper rewards awesome card? No, I don't, and I don't want one. Please don't start with the benefits of it and how it will save me from eternal damnation. Just scan and bag, and while you are doing that, I'll try to prevent the person behind me from being any farther up my ass as they attempt to get their precious groceries onto the belt. Yes, you shoving all your crap on the belt will make the teenage cashier earning minimum wage work faster. Anyway, sweet, order has been rung up...and as per usual, seems higher than I calculated myself. But I'm not going to stand there questioning every item. People that do that need a pretty good smack. Nothing should really surprise you when you see the items come across the screen. Pay attention when you put said item(s) in the cart and if you have a problem, go to customer service. Speaking of paying, debit or credit? Whichever will get me out of here quicker...and no cash back...unless it's free. Thanks for the receipt, but do I need this second receipt that's six feet long with all these coupons for items that you couldn't pay me to take?

Cart packed up, ready to get out of there. Of course there have to be eighteen children by those cheap toy dispensers with mommy dearest breaking the cashier's balls about her RC Cola costing an extra penny than the sign supposedly said. Corral your children lady. Made it outside, and now the difficult decision, wheel everything to the car and be forced to bring the cart back, or carry the bags. Hmm, doesn't seem like many bags, I'll just carry them. I get a slow swagger going with all nine bags in my hand (looked like less before...) and what's awaiting me at my car? A cart, right against the newly painted rear fender.