|Things that infuriate the shit out of me
||[May. 19th, 2005|11:16 am]
I know it is now spring in Manhattan, one of the main reasons people actually live here, and I’m supposed to be in a much better mood, but guess what? I’m fucking not, OK? My career is still killing me and I’m in the middle of a miserable God damn job search. You can’t imagine how frustrating it is to constantly repeat my corporate history to some snide asshole from JP Morgan Chase who thinks he’s the next Donald Trump or some ignorant douchebag headhunter who wants to quickly stick me in some terrible fucking audit or compliance job in some basement somewhere. Plus all the running around, secret phone calls and hiding my interviews from my current employer is driving me to drink (more). Jesus Christ it’s more complicated than cheating on a girlfriend. But since I can’t blow up on any of those people, I thought I’d purge this festering, debilitating anger from my system by ranting and raving about crap all New Yorkers can relate to: shit that pisses us off.|
Fat people getting in the way: I can’t blame the old for walking or moving slowing; they’re old and can’t help it, we’re all gonna be that way someday (at least those of us planning to make it to old age). But these fat fucks waddling around our fair city at a snail’s pace drive me fucking nuts. I have zero sympathy for these walking tubs of lard. Listening to some twenty or thirty-something gasp and wheeze as he / she slowly, painfully pulls themselves up the stairway railing out of a subway terminal while the rest of us are trying to get up the same stairs and get to work on time throws me into fits of rage. “Oh it’s glandular it’s not my fault, oh it’s genetic it’s not my fault, oh I have an eating disorder it’s not my fault.” Guess what? I don’t give a fuck. Put the fucking Twinkies and cheeseburgers down, turn the fucking T.V. off and get on a treadmill, fatass! Or eat until you’re so grossly obese you can’t leave the apartment. Whatever, just get the fuck out of the way of us skinny folk.
Morons who stand left on escalators: Holy shit how hard is it to comprehend a basic rule of urban life? STAND RIGHT WALK LEFT you fucking retards! If you’re too lazy to move then kindly stand aside and get the fuck out of my way because that is my train rolling into the platform you are blocking me from. It takes an incredible amount of self control on my part to keep from knocking these people right the fuck over.
Couples holding hands in crowded environments: OK great, you’re in love, fucking congratulations. But do you have to hold hands everywhere you go, especially on Sixth Avenue in midtown? People have places to go, business to conduct, covert interviews to attend. Unclasp your sweaty palms and let people get by you!! If you MUST engage in public displays of affection, kissing, whispering sweet nothings into one another’s ears, holding hands, go to a park or something. You’re inconveniencing the rest of us while nauseating us at the same time. Besides, we can all see that it’s never going to work.
Tourists: Spend your money and get the fuck out of here.
Douchebags who come down to the East Village on the weekends: I know you live on the Upper West Side, somewhere in New Jersey or Staten Island or Queens and your neighborhood sucks. So you come down to where I live on the weekends for a good time and think you can go fucking hog wild. The East Village isn’t Mardi Gras you assholes, people actually live here. I can’t count the number of times I’ve almost stepped in vomit on a Sunday morning or walked on shattered glass from someone’s broken windshield or seen a stupid Saturday night bar fight spill outside into Avenue B. Residents of the East Village should be legally allowed to mace these idiots every time they act up, vomit, commit vandalism, fight or smoke dope openly in the street. Have fun but show some decorum because believe it or not, during the work week, the rest of us who live here don’t act like drunken maniacs.
Asshole cab drivers who don’t know how to drive: I know you’re fresh off the boat from Pakistan and excited to be in the land of opportunity where they just hand you keys to a car as soon as you step out of the welfare office, but could you please learn how to fucking drive? While you’re at it, could you please look at a map of this city? I don’t know how many times I get in a cab and have to tell the driver where the fuck it is I’m going. “No, the FDR is on the east side, the West Side Highway is west, that’s why they call it the fucking WEST SIDE HIGHWAY! I said 5th street, not 50th street. I said Houston, not Hudson! And hey, you just turned the wrong way down a one way street, are you trying to get us killed?” Plus I ride my bike around the city when it gets nice and to see the dangerous and aggressive driving these guys pull makes me fear for my life. Bike lanes mean nothing to these assholes. And our government wonders how Al Qaeda is getting such good intel on sensitive locations and weak spots? That’s because they’re driving all over the fucking city!
People who don’t clean up after their dogs: Hey if you’re going to get a big dog for that tiny one bedroom apartment you live in, fine, but clean up after the thing once it shits its brains out all over the sidewalk! Are you too cool or something to pick up poop with a plastic bag? Then you shouldn’t have gotten that pet. I would love to grab these lazy owners by the scruff of their necks, shove their face in that steaming turd while whacking them over the head with a rolled up New York Post screaming “Bad dog owner! Bad! Bad!” but my lawyer tells me another assault conviction will get me hard time.
People who talk politics in bars: Shut the fuck up already, the election is over, your opinion means nothing! You are ignorant and irritating. If you have to bash Bush or have to praise the war in Iraq get a blog or something, I’m trying to get drunk over here!
Other shit that only mildly irritates me
Morons trying to hail every cab they see: Hey jackasses, I’ll let you in on a little secret, you need to look for cabs with the fare lights on. Waving and screaming like you’re drowning in a kiddie pool isn’t going to make just any cab stop. Believe it or not there is a system, and it’s not that hard to figure out.
People doing Seinfeld imitations: It’s over, OK? Just stop.
Velvet rope scenes: Yeah like New York City is so starved for bars and clubs I really need to stand in line for 30 minutes to have some fucking greasy guido from Long Island check out my gear before he decides to let me into a place where I have to pay $15 for a gin and tonic. Fuck you.
Cheap dope: Come on, I paid $50 for this and all it did was give me a headache. But you deliver right to my door and sometimes have pretty good shit so I can’t complain too much.
People who talk shop in bars: I don’t want to hear about your work week while I’m drinking my Jack & coke. If you’re that wrapped up in your job you need to talk about it during your time off, then you should get back to the office, you vacuous drone.
Subway PA systems: The subways in general are pretty good in this town. They are dirty as a $2 dollar whore, smell and can be very overcrowded, but more or less they run on time. But for fuck’s sake do the PA systems on every platform have to be so incomprehensible? “Ladies and gentlemen, due to SKXXXZXZXZZKKKRRT – service on the SKKKZZZRRTKKKKKTTT - interrupted for XKKKKKSSKKT - further notice. We apologize for SKZZZZKKKKTTTRRTTTT.” Yeah, thanks for the update.