Stuff that makes an old man mad: Vol. I of an endless series

Yeah, I know; we all have gripes and complaints. The difference is I get to bray about mine in silly columns like this one. You don’t.

Let’s begin with the idiots we all see speeding up when the light turns from green to yellow instead of slowing to make a safe, smooth, non-lethal stop.

The first bonehead of which I speak did exactly that just north of the York interchange. This mouth breather, behind the wheel of a great testosterone dripping pickup and worse, dragging a fifth-wheel lowboy trailer loaded with a ponderous piece of construction equipment, fairly raced by on my left.

Still, despite his best effort on the accelerator this bozo missed the yellow caution entirely and blasted through the stop light on all red. Obviously this mouth breather was completely willing to kill you or me or a whole family to avoid a few moments of rest at a red light.

As we approached, the yellow flasher that is installed way back from the actual traffic light to give motorists plenty of warning a change is imminent was going off like a banshee. I could not have avoided seeing it and neither could he.

How did I know to a certainty this driver was a he? Easy, ladies are much too intelligent and evolved to so selfishly and intentionally place fellow occupants of the planet in harm’s way.

And here’s another entry from my list of annoyances; pickup trucks all souped up and noisy like a dang rail dragster.

Fellas, trucks are work vehicles. You load stuff in ‘em and pull stuff with ‘em and plow through mud with ‘em.

If you fancy a muscle car or, even better, a slinky, turbo sports car that eats tight curves like it’s on rails, then go find one because no matter how shiny it is, you look silly charging around hell bent for election pretending it’s not a damn truck.

I have a truck, too and I love it, but it would make a silly looking hot rod.

Moving to an entirely different complaint, where do you stand on the 10-cent coin?

Really, is there any good reason the common dime has to be so very much thinner than, say, a nickel? Even the lowly penny has more vertical stature in comparison to the coin of the realm’s 10-cent piece.

This was scarcely an issue before my attempt to revisit meat cutting as a career and ruined these gnarly, arthritis-afflicted fingers. First, I fell and fractured my left thumb, then made it worse by embarking on the ill-advised meat cutter redux.

Fishing car keys from jeans pockets is tough and tying a knot in fishing line is tougher, but for some reason a damn skinny dime frustrates and enrages me most of all.

Most often these days, at least for me, small annoyances are the worst annoyances.

 

 

 

 

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