I feel the need

I feel the need

Friday, March 18, 2011

Laundry List Friday: Strange things that make me mad!

Good morning!

So I've had a couple of posts rattling around in my head this week, and haven't had the time to put fingers to keyboard.  Actually, since I just got a cortisone shot in my left hand, I've been a little crippled in the typing department.  But now I'm back and ready to share with you another fun list of stuff.

This time around, I'm sharing with you the top five things that make me mad.  While that might not sound like a funny list, as I was thinking about it, it made me laugh...which I guess should be another list:  Things that make me laugh that probably shouldn't.  Anyway, I'm not a person who gets angry about too much, so the fact that I came up with five things is also sort of funny.  But here we go.

1)  A ringing phone.

My kids will tell you that every time the phone rang in out house, I would spend the first three rings yelling, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"  before I picked up.  We solved part of that problem when we ditched the home phone and went to a cell phone only house. Now I just do it when my cell phone rings...or when my work phone rings...and since I'm a customer service rep, I'm sort of paid to answer the phone.  Which is why this is funny...I'm enraged roughly 8 times an hour.

2)  People who are supposed to be writing down what I say, but don't bother to pick up a pen until I'm done saying it.

Again, this ties in with the fact that I'm constantly giving out messages over the phone.  You know how it goes.  Someone calls and you have to give them an address or a phone number, and then you finish giving them all the info and THEN they say, "Oh wait, I need a pencil."  Yeah, that.  This happens to me roughly half the phone calls I get every day.  So lately I've been saying, "I will give you our mailing address.  GO GET A PEN AND A PIECE OF PAPER.  Then I wait.  And I wait.  Now the best one was a guy who made me wait several minutes, and then came back and said, "I couldn't find a pen.  Will a pencil do?" 

3) People who don't listen to everything I say before they start telling me I'm wrong.

My whole family and my boss would be guilty of this.  I know this happens to you guys, too.  The other night, Skippy, Hubby and I were discussing the recent closing of a local private school.  I mentioned that the school had two buildings, both the men in my house loudly informed me I was wrong, that they had one building and that the building I was thinking of had been a bank.  Yes, it was a bank, I said, then it was a school.

After several minutes of Hubby and Son informing me that I didn't know what I was talking about...we had to go to the grocery store...and drive by the building in question.  I pointed it out, "Is that the building?"  They both agreed it was.  Then I pointed out the name of the school on the side of the building. 

They both shut up. 

Somehow I'm not ever given any credit for having a brain.  Generally this doesn't bother me.  People who are funny are rarely credited with being intelligent.  But every once in a while, I wish the people around me would listen to all my words before they spout off.

4)  Getting my boss's personal mail.

My boss is either the most paranoid person on the planet, or he lives in a really bad neighborhood.  Since  I've been to his house, I can promise you, it's more likely the former.  He travels a lot and since he travels, he generally isn't home to get his mail.  So he asks me to get his mail.  Let's forget for a moment that his driveway is a 40 degree angle up and I can't drive up it most of the year, and focus on the fact that his house is on the opposite end of town from my house or from the office.  He tells me he can't get a neighbor kid to get his mail because he doesnt' trust his neighbors.  See, he truly believes everyone is out to steal his stuff.  We've now worked out a deal that if he expects me to pick up his mail, he's going to have to pay me to do it, and if it's icy or snowy, I'm taking his mail to the office. 

5)  People who park in handicapped spaces when they are clearly not handicapped.

I realize we are a society bent on evolving to a point where we have no legs.  But seriously, will it kill you to walk an extra seven feet so you don't park in the handicapped space? 

Just because the car has as sticker on it doesn't give you the right to park there.  The space is for a handicapped PERSON, not for a car that has a handicapped sticker.  The next time I see a perfectly healthy person pop out of a car parked in a handicapped space I'm going to lose my mind.

Better yet, I know the post office in Waukesha has lousy parking, but the other day there was a delivery van parked in a handicapped spaced, left RUNNING.  (That's two strikes...taking up a space and wasting fuel.)  I should have taken a picture of the van because I had time.,  The driver didn't come out for about five minutes.  Which completely destroys the "I'm just running in for a minute" argument.

People who park in handicapped spaces without being handicapped should be physically MADE to be handicapped.  Cut off a toe for the first offence, a foot for the second, until they legitimately need the spaces.

But that's just my opinion.

Got something odd that makes your blood boil?  Let me know!

1 comment:

  1. How come there are no comments after this -- no one else has something odd that makes their blood boil??? No husbands who's wives say nothing, when you seriously know Something is wrong??? Yes, I'm still bored at work and reading past blogs that I've not yet read. Only 10 more minutes, so I don't want to delve too deep into my mind to find something that makes MY blood boil, but I know that there are TONS!! I just don't want to think of them and turn my almost perfect day --Oh yeah -- I didn't have anywhere near a perfect day!! Oh yeah - that makes my blood boil -- sitting and watching the clock tick and waiting for the phone to ring when I have stacks of laundry to do, a nap to be had, stamping to do, lunch at the local pizza pub . . .just about anything except what I am doing . . .


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