Pet peeves

I have found that there is a three-step process for being a jackass in public. But first, some backstory:

Years ago, I was waiting in line at the deli counter at a grocery store. It was a busy Saturday, and I was still tired from some shenanigans the night before, so I didn't have time or energy for nonsense. Line's moving well enough, until it's me behind a couple. The dynamic of this couple is one we've seen before – smart woman with her wits about her; pasty, pudgy, doofy man. Really doofy. We're not talking about someone on any sort of a spectrum, just a big ol' honkin' dork. Think "Jim Gaffigan's stand-up routine but in the form of a real person" with a matching voice to boot.

He's eyeing the stuff behind the deli counter from the meats to the cheeses, and he's being slow of course. Then his eyes hit a case with bottles of deli dressing for sale. If you don't know what deli dressing is, it's the oil-vinegar-spices stuff they put on your sub. We're not talking advanced culinary arts here. And if you didn't know what it is in that setting, you could certainly tell what it was because the bottles were clear. Not this guy, though. The existence of deli dressing MELTS HIS MIND, and he offers forth the following, in a cadence I will never forget:

Deli dressing?
DELI DRESSING?!?!?!?!?!?!
WHAAAAAAA'S DELI DRESSING!!!!!!!?????

From that point on, he hurdled any sort of no-return fence. The woman with him explained to him that it was what it was, but he was past simple explanation. DELI DRESSING! OOOOOOOOOOOOH! LIKE ON A SUUUUUUUB! He's spending seconds and minutes just gawking and drooling over these bottles. Did he want any meat or cheese? Of course he did! The universe was full of possibility now! His oyster! He was going to explore the vast wonders of the world; forget anyone else in line! I'll have the honey haaaaam! But I want to taste your brands firrrrst! Screw this guy. I knew I would never get served standing behind this schmuck. So I left.

That moment has stuck with me ever since. Not because this guy was such a memorable weirdo, but that three-line reaction to the existence of something simple and identifiable.

Deli dressing? Obliviousness coming into the light. A simple thing, but worth questioning.
DELI DRESSING?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? Lashing out, unable to comprehend something so easy, so basic.
WHAAAAAAAA'S DELI DRESSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!????? Philosophical query. This bozo couldn't be bothered to figure out what the hell deli dressing was over the course of his life, so it was up to the world to teach him.

This three-step derp can be found everywhere. Think of it like this:

Turn signal?
TURN SIGNAL?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!?
I HAFTA USE MAH TURN SIGNAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????

Or how about this?

Elevator's on my floor?
ELEVATOR'S ON MY FLOOR?!?!?!?!?!?!
I GOTTA GET OUT ON THIS FLOOOOOOOR!!!!!!!!!!??????

Or this?

My dog's being annoying?
MY DOG'S BEING ANNOYING?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I GOTSTA HOLD MY DOG CLOSER TO ME!!!!!????????????

I wonder the exact percentage of inconvenient keystone koppery from clueless apes that follows this pattern. I don't want to experience it enough to find out, but now that I've unlocked this code, I can't stop seeing the Pattern of Three everywhere.

 

You sound like a complete dickbag.

 

Did you enjoy the deli dressing?

 

My neighbor should really see a doctor about his phlegm. No one should be hocking a loog as much as this dude. And not just that, he does it so loud that I hear him over my TV.

And speaking of spitting when one should swallow, who the fuck spits on the bathroom floor in an office building? If you are shitting so bad that you feel compelled to spit the taste out of your mouth, you aren't healthy

 

I hate it when you bite into a whole cherry tomato and seeds and juice projectile splatter their way out of your mouth.

(Might be a first world problem)

 

When my sister was 2 or 3 she bit into a cherry tomato and laid waste to my proper Virgina lady grandma's shirt.

 

Okay, another pet peeve:

I despise the use of "tweeting OUT".

Just use "tweeting", with no OUT. There's no such thing as an internal tweet.

Damn twits.

 

I don't know what it is that makes middle-aged white guys like me regard bad free throw shooting as a moral failing but Lord does it grate on my last nerve.

 

It is, in part, related to something that bugs me:
People who dawdle at the ordering point or point of sale when there is a line behind them.
When you get to the ordering point or point of sale, be prepared. You're not being asked to solve the cold fusion problem. Order your food or complete your transaction and let's all move on.
It is especially bothersome when I have been waiting in line with the person, so I know full well that he or she had time to consider the order or purchase.
This kind of dawdling is especially pervasive in California.

It's a taqueria. You've been in line for four minutes with a huge menu board in front of you. How tough is it to decide what you're having for lunch?

 

laid waste to my proper Virgina

Oh Rhett! You scoundrel!

 

Or when it's 1 a.m. and you haven't eaten since lunch, and you think it's OK to stop at the McDonald's drive-thru (because you're desperate and it's the only place in the godforsaken town open at 1 a.m.), thinking it's OK because there are just two cars in line, and they have just one person each ...

[gasp]

only to sit there while Mrs. Walton orders enough food to feed most third-world nations.

Swear to God, one night when I experienced this, I rolled up to the window with an exasperated look on my face and the cashier sheepishly told me, "Their order was $65.

 

Marijuana?