Not sure, but just about everything seemed annoying on this entry into the weekend.
Whether I was experiencing it, or just remembering it. Check it out …
Wawa Wassup … It never fails. The Philly region favorite quick-stop shop for essentially everything edible – for people and cars – tends to get a little crowded at times. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, any rush hour, the place turns into a haven for those in a hurry to get something and get moving. So, why in the name of all things holy, do idiots pick those times to display their idiocy on center stage? The classic is the cigarette-fix guy/gal. They can’t possibly survive without those gaggers. Oh no, oh hell no, can’t miss those cancer sticks … and let’s, without fail, ask for the ones that particular Wawa doesn’t carry, or never has in stock. The line is mind-numbing long, the cashier is slow-as-sh!t and this gag-off must have their unhealthy habit – for everyone within breathing room. Gotta fumble around with their caffeine drink and debit card, too, just to make that wait for all that much longer. Just get out the way, and MOVE.
Space Schmace … What in the hell is this 273 feet of room the “leader” of lines forming away from cash registers anyway? At least the Wawas don’t have that. But most places, holy effin cow. It’ll be the person paying at the register, and then the next person standing a city block behind them – just to make sure that no one knows if there is a line or not. The space is so gargantuan that the cashier has no idea who is next, and any line-abiding citizen is screwed as the next pushy person just races up to get served before anyone can cover the open distance in a mad dash. Me? Once I get to be “next,” that freakin’ line jumps right up to, oh, maybe 2 feet from the person paying. It’s ridiculous giving more room. Enough with the “don’t wanna crowd” someone. If an NFL punt returner can handle 2 yards with 250-pound missiles diving at their feet, the person up front can handle the pressure of 2 feet before others are lapping at their heels.
Insecurity Outrage … Do we really need to run into the stall, guys, when we’re just going No. 1? I saw this bizarre activity first start to materialize in, say, Walmart bathrooms after I first moved to Florida a decade ago, but now it permeates just about every store, restaurant or wherever I’ve been and a bathroom exists. Yo, no one gives a rat’s ass about your junk. If you need to take a dump, by all means take the stall. If you don’t, grow some balls and use a urinal and leave the stall for someone who actually needs to use it.
Fetus Complex … This is specifically for my Jersey friends. You know I love your driving skills, but, please, learn the wonderful, life-preserving, crash-avoiding concept of “driving to daylight.” This insane, “have to drive right next to someone” style is ... well, it’s a sickness. My guess, it comes from being in the most populated state per square mile, and being sandwiched between NYC and Philly, but, c’mon – hit the gas and find some clearing, or slow down and create some for yourself.
Jack Kerwin | [email protected]
Whether I was experiencing it, or just remembering it. Check it out …
Wawa Wassup … It never fails. The Philly region favorite quick-stop shop for essentially everything edible – for people and cars – tends to get a little crowded at times. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, any rush hour, the place turns into a haven for those in a hurry to get something and get moving. So, why in the name of all things holy, do idiots pick those times to display their idiocy on center stage? The classic is the cigarette-fix guy/gal. They can’t possibly survive without those gaggers. Oh no, oh hell no, can’t miss those cancer sticks … and let’s, without fail, ask for the ones that particular Wawa doesn’t carry, or never has in stock. The line is mind-numbing long, the cashier is slow-as-sh!t and this gag-off must have their unhealthy habit – for everyone within breathing room. Gotta fumble around with their caffeine drink and debit card, too, just to make that wait for all that much longer. Just get out the way, and MOVE.
Space Schmace … What in the hell is this 273 feet of room the “leader” of lines forming away from cash registers anyway? At least the Wawas don’t have that. But most places, holy effin cow. It’ll be the person paying at the register, and then the next person standing a city block behind them – just to make sure that no one knows if there is a line or not. The space is so gargantuan that the cashier has no idea who is next, and any line-abiding citizen is screwed as the next pushy person just races up to get served before anyone can cover the open distance in a mad dash. Me? Once I get to be “next,” that freakin’ line jumps right up to, oh, maybe 2 feet from the person paying. It’s ridiculous giving more room. Enough with the “don’t wanna crowd” someone. If an NFL punt returner can handle 2 yards with 250-pound missiles diving at their feet, the person up front can handle the pressure of 2 feet before others are lapping at their heels.
Insecurity Outrage … Do we really need to run into the stall, guys, when we’re just going No. 1? I saw this bizarre activity first start to materialize in, say, Walmart bathrooms after I first moved to Florida a decade ago, but now it permeates just about every store, restaurant or wherever I’ve been and a bathroom exists. Yo, no one gives a rat’s ass about your junk. If you need to take a dump, by all means take the stall. If you don’t, grow some balls and use a urinal and leave the stall for someone who actually needs to use it.
Fetus Complex … This is specifically for my Jersey friends. You know I love your driving skills, but, please, learn the wonderful, life-preserving, crash-avoiding concept of “driving to daylight.” This insane, “have to drive right next to someone” style is ... well, it’s a sickness. My guess, it comes from being in the most populated state per square mile, and being sandwiched between NYC and Philly, but, c’mon – hit the gas and find some clearing, or slow down and create some for yourself.
Jack Kerwin | [email protected]
RSS Feed
