A few things that aren’t a big deal but make me furious (I believe the technical term is “ranting”):
In the course of my day job I make a lot of phone calls and when I can’t justify my way out of it I leave messages. Whoever I’m calling states their name and maybe tells me to leave a message and then the robotized lady’s voice explains to me in as many words as possible just how one is to leave a message. She (it?) painstakingly tells me that it is to be spoken after and not before the beep, that upon concluding the recitation of the desired communication I can push the pound sign, simply hang up, or if I am unhappy with the quality of the recorded verbal missive I have the option of pressing a particular digit that will allow me to delete what has transpired and start again fresh, with a chance to leave a new digital dispatch. Only after these instructions (for an activity that has been a common practice where phone messages are concerned since before I was born) are done does the before promised beep come, allowing me to leave my number and request a return call, after which I can either hang up, press pound, or start all over again. If you call my number you will find that I have figured out how to erase this digital woman and her instructional tutorial so that the folks who ring me on the tele don’t have to suffer.
I won’t hound on raisin cookies that lie in wait to disappoint and disgust the normal majority of the populace that is only seeking a chocolate chip cookie. It is an old kind of suffering that has had many a poet lament on the torment inflicted thus. Instead I wish to bring up a new and dangerously insidious threat that hangs over a society teetering on the brink of moral collapse: So called “Hint of Lime” tortilla chips. Have we really sunk so far that we have lost the definition of the word hint? Or rather have we been desensitized to such a degree that this is actually an accurate definition for the common man? I have a rebranding suggestion to all the tortilla chip making and distribution entities that have attacked our already dying refined sensitivities. How about a more accurate title like, “Rape of Lime”? Nothing is worse than grabbing a chip and scooping up some spicy queso and gagging as you try to redefine your entire world view to include such a vile flavor combination. I’d personally like to be able to taste the queso and its spicy contents and not just meekly surrender my palate’s virtue to evil marketers and their “rape of lime” chips.
OK, I think I’m done now.
I hate DVD’s that won’t let you skip right to the menu with the menu button or that start playing the ads right away.
I hate sleep. What a waste of time.