What Really Irritates Me In Men, Women, Poodles, and Other Sartorial Considerations Very Late at Night, Part 8

 

'Tis late. Very late, and very early. Perfect time for another instalment in that godforsaken series. My notes are overflowing with rants, some scribbled hastily and nervously. I can still sense the outrage seeping through. Pulsing. The rant itching on the roof of the palate. Them people, them dogs, them fashions. Won't ever rest, won't ever stop. Like a juggernaut rolling over innocents, leaving none unscathed in its path. Sometimes you don't see any of it taking place because the massacre happens elsewhere, as it sometimes seems to take a separate path, if just for a split nanosecond, in a reality so close to our own that they seem to merge. Moments otherwise known and exploited as memes as WTF moments. Life may just be one gigantic meme, or a series of gif, who knows.

I was recently introduced to resistentialism and my mind went [insert GIF of nuke bomb going off]. It's the idea that inanimate objects have a will of their own, and will become hostile at the right time – usually the worst for us. Picture this: you're late to a meeting, you need to print one document. The rage starts building up as no PDF document would open for some reason while it worked perfectly fine until now. Then the printer won't print. The berserker in you comes to the surface. Change the paper, the paper will jam. Some form of head-shaking acceptance seems to take over. Or the coffee machine will signal it's out of coffee, then a few minutes later you see a colleague with a steaming cup of coffee from said vending machine. Now you see resistentialism everywhere. And no, the printer is working fine. PDF not opening? The IT guy looked at it and said it worked fine. Is this our imagination playing tricks on us? Do we emit bad vibes and short-circuit stuff? Or, more plausibly, do machines have a will of their own, and plan on taking over the world by making us, slowly and irrevocably, mad? Like this alarm clock which has worked so well for so long and chose that day when I absolutely had to be on time not to go off. I'm sure I heard it snicker when it went off the next morning.

Such spite is by no means rare, and it leads me to my second segment: being late. A few weeks ago, I could finally delve into the mind of a person who is always late. I don't mean the hyperbolic 'always' we sometimes use to carry a point forward, I mean to carry it home: 'always' as in 'all the frigging time'. Late is by definition 'not on time', and she is that, by an average of 15 minutes. Yes, I'm keeping tabs, but no I don't use those against her, rather I use them to study the pattern. So we can both be late and arrive at roughly the same time. The other day she even arrived later than her “I'm running late” change of time. So I asked what the golden rule was, and she told me this (I'm paraphrasing for brevity):

Rule #1: If you leave your place before the convened time, you're not late.

Rule #2: If it's not too late to change the time, change it so you go back to Rule #1

The concept of “not too late” is arrogantly loose, and of course subject to wind, hygrometry, the age of the captain and the alignment of certain planets. Interestingly, I connected this frame of mind with this article. I have to admit that I was stunned by the practice, even though I had already experienced, like many of you I'm sure, my flight being delayed, leaving late and yet arriving on time. I had never connected the dots. I suspect my friend who is always late believes this to be true for her too.

But I can't really hold a grudge against her, she always has fantastic ideas and feeds my passionate hatred for poodles. She pointed out that poodles were dangerous for society, and even though I detest the pathetic beast I suggested they weren't that dangerous compared to other breeds. But she didn't mean the rather harmless and pitiful-looking maltipoo (yes, that's a thing and apparently the apex of cuteness: a cross-breed between a poodle and a Maltese dog. To think the Maltese is already enough to make the most seasoned seaman sick...I shudder at the thought), she rather meant this. I like how someone bent over backwards to make the acronym fit both something apparently harmless – as if poodles weren't savage monstrosities clad in white wool – and a malignant exploit in the Internet/software to reveal encrypted messages. Or perhaps this person knew how malevolent poodles can be.

While I was waiting for her, not having expected the second bout of lateness, I took my e-reader out and started rea– nope, because people are people, and some are better at it than others. Take those who listen to their phone, but they put the speaker to their ear, the phone horizontal. And then flip the phone to their mouth and yell something unintelligible to the recipient and to everyone around. And to those who try to read. Them people should get a damn headset, because they sure look beyond-word stupid.

Considering I wouldn't be able to read, I then took my notepad and thought to myself: “Sure people, we can play this. I'll observe and you'll be you. Not that my spleen will like it, but my pen shall bask in the absurdity of it all.” Like: I wonder how some people can still take pictures with iPads. And how selfie sticks for iPads still aren't a thing. Obviously, if the fad were to have died out it would've been ages ago. There's a niche in the market, and people shilly-shally about it. Come on, how hard can it be, in this age of carbon nanotubes?

I proceeded to notice a pattern which I had already jotted down, and which I saw repeated right before my eyes: some people sneeze but they say 'achoo' right after the sneeze. You're supposed to make the sound as you sneeze, not say the sound after you foolishly tried to stifle the sneeze in. That's the whole point of an onomatopoeia, and you seem quite adamant in trying to defeat its purpose. Especially since you failed, and perhaps your instinct knows better as you really could hurt your tympanums doing this. Here's what can happen). And it's downright nonsensical to do so – both stifling the sneeze and saying achoo after sneezing. People, le sigh.

You can tell I was already passably irritated. My friend was nowhere in sight, and she was twenty-five minutes late. So I observed further, fed the fire raging inside, watching those couples, those groups of friends, or businessmen with their clients...who refuse to walk in single-file in narrow corridors or on on pavements. Pretty much like escalator-clogging people. Not that I'm rushing all the time, but I know some people are so I have the courtesy to make way for that one time when I need to rush myself. I mulled and decided that this obnoxious was still better than those deserve-a-good-slap people who stop short while walking, especially in busy areas. And then getting all cranky because they're being shoved in. But then they realise that there's this massive wave of people surging their way, so they suddenly shut up. Next time, effing walk on. But some of them don't, and don't even realise that they are in the way. They just stop. Some people do deserve the juggernaut, sometimes [insert grinning devil emoji].