Date: 03/26/2014
Official Location: Nowhere, and that's
the problem
 |
| "Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a Cage." - Smashing Pumpkins |
Lately, for whatever reason, I haven’t been travelling
around metro-Detroit as much as I usually do.
I feel like a rat in a cage. As a
result, the Weird L’il S**t I See is little more than what appears before me in
my office, during my commute, or what I see at lunch. It’s not exactly photo-worthy, and being
cooped up has got me a little agitated. I
guess that might explain why I am in the mood to rant about everything and nothing in particular. So without further ado...
·
If your driver’s side window does not function,
you are not allowed to use the fast-food drive-thru.
Period. There are no exceptions to this.
You look ridiculous, and you’re holding up the line. Park your piece of shit. Go inside.
Use the counter. Yes, it’s not as
convenient, but perhaps that very same corner-cutting, drive-thru mentality of yours is probably why
your broke-ass can’t afford a car with working windows in the first place. Maybe while you’re in there, fill out an
application. Just sayin'.
·
And speaking of drive-thru’s—McDonald’s, I’m
talking to you—what are you trying to accomplish by installing double
drive-thru speaker lanes that merge into one pick-up window? It causes nothing but utter Mc-confusion when
trying to match orders with customers. This
is ten levels of difficulty beyond “making correct change,” and your staff routinely
has enough difficulty with that concept. But
even more disturbingly, have you seen the way your customers aggressively
jockey for position and cut-off one another in an effort to be the first to merge into the single pick-up lane after placing their
orders? I would venture a guess that
there’s less intentional cutting going on at a group home for teenage
girls. Who needs that kind of pressure
before an extra value meal? If I have a
heart attack after eating a double quarter pounder with cheese and large fry, that’s on
me. I know the risks. But to die of a road rage induced embolism
while navigating your damn drive-thru?
That’s all on you. Shame.
·
And speaking of driving etiquette, commuters, when
we are all driving smoothly on a busy freeway in a continuous line of traffic,
and your car eventually comes up and over a hill and you are granted your first
panoramic view of all the cars that are actually in front of you (and always
have been), don’t hit your brakes, not even for a second or two. I know it’s just a tap, but it is completely
unnecessary, and you are just being slave to your amygdala, the primitive, reptilian
portion of your brain that dictates your flight or fight response (and also makes
you a racist). Just because you can suddenly
see those cars that were always there, it doesn’t mean that they are now a
threat to you. And even if they were,
slowing down for two seconds won’t make you any safer. Quite the opposite. I am right behind right you. I am doing 70 mph, and I am looking down at
my smartphone while I check my NCAA brackets.
I promise I won’t notice you’ve tapped your brakes until I’ve lodged my
Honda Odyssey well into your backseat.
·
And speaking of being plowed into from behind,
what the hell is going on with Michigan and gay marriage? Do we allow it now or don’t we? I’m having a hard time following just what
the law is now that our bi-polar legislators have gone back and forth so many
times. Apparently it’s perfectly OK for
them to be bi. And why is a court in
Ohio now making the final decision? Don’t we all agree that Ohio is just an
unfortunate span of real estate separating Michigan from useful places? Why are they even involved in this debate? And what’s the debate? I just assumed that after eight successful seasons
of Will & Grace, we realized that all gay people are witty and attractive,
and they should finally have the rights of everyone else. Seriously though, I just don’t understand the
opposition to gay marriage. I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m a happily married man. In my heart, I know that that institution is made
sacred by the commitment shared, not by how the genitalia differ.
·
And, finally, speaking of genitalia, I am recently
reminded of something my great uncle told me.
Right before he died, when he was 87, I had the extreme pleasure of driving cross
country with him, and, as a residual bonus, getting a decidedly different
perspective on my family, our history, and growing old. Funny guy, my great uncle. At one point during the trip, while we were
yammering about this and that, he says, “You know, Mark, getting old is
horrible, but it’s not the aches and pains or even the dying part. The worst thing is what they don’t even have
the decency to tell ya, no one, not even the doctors. They absolutely don’t
warn ya how much your Johnson just shrinks
right up. By the time you get my age, your
pecker is hardly even there anymore!”
While he said that last part, he held up his thumb and index finger with
nary an inch separating them. I damn near drove off the road
laughing. But it might not be as funny now,
though. I passed the half-way mark to 87
a few years ago, and so I'm naturally beginning to wonder whether the prophetic shrinkage is experienced as
a straight-line graph or more of an undetectable-at-first-but-dramatically-falling-off-at-the-end,
parabolic type affair. Shit! Like I really
needed something else to stress over.
Since I can't sink much lower, I'll stop for now.
m. karvinen
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