I can't take it
Some irksome things of everyday life drive you mad, don't they? Call them pet peeves. Most are non-lethal and banal. But they force you to fight the urge to blurt out, "I can't take it."
I'll probably think of more, but, for now, I can't take:
* Long-winded, needlessly verbose phone message recordings. "You have reached (then it repeats the number you dialed). I'm sorry, but the person at that extension is unavailable." By now I'm close to yelping, "No kidding, genius!"
But it's just getting warmed up.
"If you'd like to leave a message, press one. To page this person, press two. Or just wait for the tone." So, hoping to provoke a swift return call, you opt for the page. It drones on, "You have entered (then they repeat your number -- all ten digits, thank you very little -- and by now you've lost the will to live). "If this is correct, press one." Blah blah blah. And then, they tack on a goofy option at the finish? "To end this call, please press pound, or simply hang up." So for jokes and fun, you press pound. "Good-bye," it says, all smarty pants.
Someone could become a zillionaire by figuring out how to create a snappy, 10-second version of this insufferable ritual.
* People in Southern California who insist on wearing shorts when the temperature drops below 40 F. I'm thinking they must either be tourists trying to get their money's worth, or just moved from Wisconsin and want to fit in.
* Bill O'Reilly's inscrutable use of the term "the deity" for God, and his infallible certainty as to what Jesus would do. Go here for my extended take on Mr. O'Reilly's bloviatory yet anorexic Catholicism.
* The phrase "it's all about..." As in, "Here at Bob's Wrench Emporium, we're all about service," or, "You know, Jennifer and Nick were all about honesty." When I hear it, I secretly wish the person saying it was beaten up as a child.
* The irritatingly cocksure Bryant Gumbel, who, faithful as Big Ben, ruins the end of every episode of HBOs Real Sports with his smarmy wrap-up comments.
* Drivers who've taken blood oaths never to use their right turn indicator.
* Twenty-minutes of super-loud movie trailers in mallplexes.
* Any more photos of -- let's be charitable -- the repellent Paris Hilton. I resent knowing that she has a dog and a line of zhi-zhi purses. I have that information in my head.
* Hollywood train-wreck marriages that steam forward to their inevitable dooms in super slo-mo. Start the list with: Tom and Katie; Julia and what's-his-name; David and Courtney; Harrison and Calista; Brad and Angelina. Why not arrange a conference call and spare everyone the wait by just breaking up on the same day? (Christina Aguilara's marriage to what's-his-name [no relation to Julia's husband] is an exception; it will last unto eternity.)
* The phrases:
1) "You go, girl" (Hey, spunky female, I publically encourage you in your outragous venture);
2) "Don't go there" (You are inappropriately verging on explicitating a topic that is inappropriately bawdy or embarrassing yet we both consider humorous);
3) "No worries" (I have experienced no significant burden by handing you the Sweet N' Sour sauce pouch you requested.")
All three went stale around 1997.
What can't you take?