Spring Cleaning

Please, friends, join me for a bit of spring cleaning. Also, since I know how much better it feels to let your gripes loose, even if it’s only on a Facebook status or on the phone with your sister, I encourage you to find an outlet to do some spring cleaning of your own.

To the little punk with the multi-colored Civic: a few years ago, I had a car with a hole in the muffler, and it made the most obnoxious sound. A buzzing, mechanical, groaning sound which caused me both migraines and embarrassment. I guess that’s why I can’t comprehend why you’d intentionally modify your car in a way to make an even louder, more obnoxious noise. In case there is any confusion, let me clarify for you.

No one is looking at your car and saying, “Wow, that car is so cool. I wish mine made noise like that. That guy is my hero.” Don’t kid yourself, they’re saying, “What kind of moron strives to draw more attention to a multi-colored Civic? And why are my ears bleeding? I wish that guy would move away.” This example applies particularly to when you’re driving down my street at 11pm, only imagine it being muttered through clenched teeth and laden with colorful language and possibly even the mention of forks being plunged into tires (theoretically, of course).

To the people who can’t control their dogs: I have a dog. Every once in awhile (meaning, a handful of times per year), my dog will take advantage of some unforeseen window of opportunity to sneak out of the house sans leash. He’ll run around the neighborhood for 30 minutes or so, visiting other dogs, exploring some places he doesn’t ever get to see (since he’s NEVER allowed to roam), and being free. I can neither confirm nor deny that he pees in my neighbors’ yard or on their garbage box, but if he does, I truly apologize.

But, what say you, people who let their dog roam around town? What is your defense? I can completely understand if your dog hatches an escape plan and infrequently skips out, but there are a few dogs in particular whose owners just plain don’t care what the rules are, apparently. I’m not sure why these people all seem to live in puppy-roaming-distance from my house, but it’s out of control. And yes, I’m naming names.

Brutus is my most frequent guest, and on one occasion, as I was trying to rescue my own dog from his “advances”, he forced his way into my kitchen. Then he marked his territory on my welcome mat. He’s lucky to be alive today, if you catch my drift. I should also mention the pitiful, scraggily grey dog who is always hungry, and the playful but massive Burmese-looking black puppy who practically lives on my deck and scares the heck out of my 4-year-old. If these descriptions ring a bell, consider yourself warned.

To the people at the drive-thru: if I don’t ask for something, I have no right to complain about not getting it (not entirely true, especially in the case of fast food places where desired acquisition of certain condiments is implied based on the items ordered – like if you order pancakes, it’s only natural to expect syrup to be in the bag without having to ask - but for sake of argument I’ll cut some slack for now).

However, if I ask for sauce, I expect it to be in the bag without having to hold up the drive-thru by rifling through the bags to check. Similarly, if you ask me if I want sauce, it is only natural that I would expect to find said sauce in the bag when I arrive home to my ravenous, impatient children. By the time I drive back to get the sauce, absorb the attitude and stink eye (because YOUR omission is obviously MY fault, right?), and drive back home, all the food is cold and my entire family’s supper is ruined. So, thanks for that.

While I’m at it, to the coffee people: why don’t we all just call a spade a spade and rename it “roll up the rim to please play again”?

And finally, to the woman responsible for the most horrifying dining experience of my life: while I cannot identify you without offending the sensibilities of many, I would be remiss if I didn’t at least mention the disgusting spectacle you made at my favorite restaurant last week. I’m sure you felt my eyes boring holes into the back of your head, and I can only hope your disgusting, inconsiderate, unsanitary eating habits were scared away by my icy glare.

There. Now I feel a bit better.