What I'd put in room 101

...the next light change. So what does numpty do? The second the light goes green, he decides he’s going right after all, and belatedly, flicks on his indicator. Of course, now I have to wait for oncoming traffic to give him a gap so he can turn. Meanwhile, the line of cars to my left file on past in nose to tail formation, their drivers smirking at me in barely disguised glee at my misfortune with not the slightest hint of a gap for me to duck into ...
...in the local canal, but what do you expect me to do with my shopping? Carry it? How about a change machine next to the customer service desk?


Shoppers who leave their trolleys in car parking spaces.


Teenagers and the able bodied who use disabled and parent and child spaces in crowded car parks.


Check-out assistants who look baffled (or worse blatantly condescending) when you ask for plastic ... more

INTRODUCTION

I have had very little to complain about during my time here on Ciao. The community is great, the reviews are of an excellent standard (most of the time) and I very much appreciate the reads, rates and comments. However, having been born in England, I feel a pathological need to complain, so when casting about for ideas for a non-product review, I was delighted to find Room 101.

There are certain things in this life that cause me a disproportionate amount of stress given their relative insignificance. I wish I had the patience to deal with them. But I can’t. They annoy me, frustrate me, and drive me to distraction. Some even stir primitive, near-homicidal urges. If the mythical Room 101 were to exist, these are the types of people, things and behaviours I would seek to banish within. Trust me - the world would be a better place for it. I make no apologies for the length, I am getting more bitter and cynical in my “old” age.

DRIVING

No-Signal Nigel

Let me introduce you to the bane of my daily drive to work – No-Signal Nigel. Two lanes of traffic. One set of traffic lights. Ten cars per light change. There is one car in the go straight or turn right lane. There are fifteen cars in the go straight or turn left lane. The one solitary car is not signalling right. It’s safe to assume he’s going straight, right? So you go and queue up behind him, feeling all smug that you’ve just ensured you’ll get through at the next light change. So what does numpty do? The second the light goes green, he decides he’s going right after all, and belatedly, flicks on his indicator. Of course, now I have to wait for oncoming traffic to give him a gap so he can turn. Meanwhile, the line of cars to my left file on past in nose to tail formation, their drivers smirking at me in barely disguised glee at my misfortune with not the slightest hint of a gap for me to duck into to get around the moron in front. Serial non-signallers at roundabouts also get my goat.

Honourable Mentions:

Gap thieves and tailgaters – I leave space for a reason! Right lane hogs, dangerous overtakers, serial undertakers, suicidal cyclists and bikers, Sunday drivers, amber gamblers, baby on board signs or any variation thereof, music from the car next to me loud enough for me to hear with the windows up, neon under lighting, drivers who leave their full beams on, ingrates who don’t acknowledge the courtesy of letting them in, idiots who do 50mph in a 30mph limit residential street, and mopeds without silencers. People who insist on cleaning their windscreens while doing 80mph on the motorway - with the resulting spray creating a windscreen wiper chain reaction that tails back for five miles. My all time favourite? – inconsiderate parkers who block you in or park too close, making it impossible for you to get in the car on the drivers side, or leave their car at the petrol station pump while doing their weekly shop at the forecourt mini-market – who does that?

COMMUTING

Clueless Colin and Chloe

It’s Monday morning rush hour and you’re queuing at the automatic ticket machine. In front of you is a couple obviously on a day out to London. Each grim faced commuter ahead of them goes through the morning ritual of “choose destination – choose ticket – insert payment – take ticket”, Chloe and Colin approach the machine. They follow the instructions. So far so good. Then the payment option comes up. Clueless couple look completely confused. Cue commotion and desperate scrabbling for coinage. Yes that’s right Colin and Chloe, you have to PAY to travel. Clever concept isn’t it? Clueless Colin finally finds credit card and turns to screen. Transaction cancelled. Clueless couple took too bloody long. And, oh crap. Look. That’s my train pulling in.

Broadsheet Benny

Packed commuter train. Squashed in like sardines and getting intimate with bloke in front’s B.O. and bad breath. Broadsheet Benny boarded at Basingstoke. He got himself a seat. Bravo for Benny. Benny has a broadsheet newspaper, invariably the Financial Times. Boorish Benny then does his America’s Cup impression by opening his big broadsheet and extending arms to unfurl his billowing pink broad sheet sail. Beware! Woe betide the bumbling commuter who batters Benny’s broad sheet. Prat.

Stop Short Stella

Stella is from Stuttgart but like most tourists, she forgot to pack her common sense. Stella is going sightseeing and steps off the District Line at South Kensington. The sights and sounds are so interesting to Stella that she fails to spot the six hundred souls who stepped off with her. Stella makes her way to the escalator without incident, and stands on the correct side. So far so splendid Stella! Then Stella spies something superb! Why, it must be superlatively superb if Stella to came to a sudden sharp short stop at the very top of the escalator! Cue much hilarity as every person behind her struggles to avoid falling over. Stella is so surprised! The English are so polite! They all say sorry – to Stella! How splendid! Sorry silly Stella, but that’s just the Saxons being snide.

Honourable Mentions:

I wish painful acid indigestion upon people who eat smelly food on the tube or just smell in general, tinnitus on the selfish morons who insist on having loud mobile phone conversations in designated “Quiet Zone” carriages, and itchy piles on those who sprawl across two seats and pretend they are asleep when you ask them to move. A special well-spring of ire is reserved for the train company posters advertising “27 minutes to Waterloo from this station”. Yeah. As if. Maybe when it was the only train, there were no signalling problems or cancellations, leaves on the line, the wrong kind of snow, train strikes, bird strikes, “passenger action” (what a horrible euphemism for a person under a train) - and the moon was a nice shade of blue.

RANDOM RANTS

If you’re still with me, here comes the sprint - fasten your seat belt.

> Supermarkets

Shopping trolleys that need pound coins to release – there may be a few less in the local canal, but what do you expect me to do with my shopping? Carry it? How about a change machine next to the customer service desk?

Shoppers who leave their trolleys in car parking spaces.

Teenagers and the able bodied who use disabled and parent and child spaces in crowded car parks.

Check-out assistants who look baffled (or worse blatantly condescending) when you ask for plastic bags despite placing a trolley-load of shopping on the conveyor – how else am I going to get it to my car you idiot?

Special mention to the check-out “captains” who are nowhere to be seen when the red light goes up. Clueless shelf-stackers who seem to think their job is to be as obstructive as possible.

Charging for plastic bags – suit yourself, I’ll just buy less.

Plastic bags that disintegrate between the trolley and the boot of your car – and they have the cheek to ask us to use them again!?

> Food

Yoghurt that “spits” when you open the lid.

Fruit and vegetables that turn to compost the day after you buy – despite being well within the use by date.

Broccoli, celery, cauliflower and okra – I believe they are satanic.

The ingredient “natural flavouring” - why not just tell me what it is? I’m a grown up, I can handle it!

Amazing looking produce with no flavour. I don’t care how it looks – I care how it tastes!

Exorbitant on-package claims that don’t stand up to scrutiny – like “50% more fruit!” (*small print - fruit content 2.5%).

Foods like peanut M&Ms, peanut butter, walnut whips, fruit and nut bars, and dry roasted peanuts that are labelled “may contain nuts”. You’re either telling us there is so little of the ingredient you’re not sure you’ve included any, or moronically stating the bleeding obvious.

> Eating Out

Restaurants whose exorbitant prices are inversely proportional to the quantity of food served.

Waiting staff who ask you if everything is OK two minutes after the food is plonked down on your table.

Ice in mineral water. If I wanted to pollute my mineral water with frozen tap water, do you honestly think I would have paid through the nose for the San Exorbitanto?

Expecting tips for crap service. It’s not my job to subsidise your wage. Tips are for exceptional service. Deal with it.

While we’re on the subject, if you’re going to hit me with a service charge, don’t insult me by leaving a “gratuity” line on the credit card machine or receipt – that’s just double-dipping and plain deceitful.

Diet martyrs - the ones that insist on telling you how many calories and just how much saturated fat is in everyting you order, get themselves a salad then pick the chips off your plate and insist on trying your desert - because food off someone else's plate has no calories. Apparently.

> Customer Service

Shops that attempt to fob you off with the “out of guarantee” line when you return faulty goods.

That awful sucking sound that mechanics and tradesmen make when they’re about to rip you off.

People who say “Do you KNOW who I am?” Doh. If you had to ask…

Anyone who has ever used “computer says no” as an excuse to do nothing.

Shop staff who treat you like an inconvenience, or ask you if you would like some help five seconds after you walk in, but are nowhere to be seen when you actually need them.

Hotels and hospitals that charge for car-parking. For the former, I simply won’t book – your rates should cover it. For the latter – honestly – do you really think I am going to be digging in my pockets for change or paying “by mobile” when my wife is eight inches dilated and raising hell because your incompetent midwives sent her home thinking she wasn’t in “established” labour.

> Socially Retarded Behaviour

People who douse themselves in whole bottles of perfume, Eau de Frou Frou or the latest celebrity endorsed ego-massaging “designer” after shave – what’s that all about? Have a bath if you’re that insecure about your natural “musk”.

Idiots who spit and hawk up goobers in public. Disgusting habit.

The thoughtless planks who don’t dispose of gum properly, or most irritatingly, litter within sight of a litter bin.

People who put the juice or milk carton back in the fridge with only a drop or two left.

The phrase “with the greatest of respect” – usually a sign that none is forthcoming.

Men who don’t flush in public toilets - by all means, if it’s yellow, “let it mellow” – if you are in your own bloody house - but in a public convenience? Is the exhibitionistic display of your latest stinking log for the next occupant to “enjoy” some kind of territorial thing?

Next come significant others (invariably female) who ask impossible and panic-inducing questions – such as “Do you know what day it is today?”, “How do I look?” and the heart-stopping “Do you notice anything different?” – I get palpitations just thinking about those.

IN CONCLUSION

Finally, a special place in my heart for the well-intentioned, but invariably clueless class of people who I call the “there there brigade”. You are an avid sports fan. Your team has just been cruelly beaten in an important cup tie. You are despondent – abject – a broiling cauldron of misery, frustration and disappointment - the hopes and expectations of an entire nine-month football season have just disintegrated in front of your eyes. Some poor lamb will always – inevitably - lob up that oh so innocent sounding hand grenade…

“There there. It’s ONLY a game….”

Did I mention these give me near- homicidal urges? Ah. I feel much better. That was ever so cathartic.

© Hishyeness 2009 - Also on DooYoo
 

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