I work in a highly stressful environment. And by “highly stressful,” what I mean is that customer service is an aspect of my job. By that definition, of course, the majority of us have “highly stressful” jobs. Repeatedly throughout the day I have to patiently explain things to clients in a professional tone while attempting to resolve their issues without sighing, dropping the phone or asking them in all seriousness, “Are you fucking retarded?” I get headaches.

But because telling customers off is generallly frowned upon, I find myself bottling up a lot of rage throughout the day. Well, I don’t want to exaggerate, so maybe rage is too strong of a word. “Bottling up a lot of rage” makes it sound like I’m one moron away from strapping on AK-47s and bursting through the office door Tony Montana-style. It’s probably more accurate to say that, generally, by five o’clock I want to weep for humanity and for myself, for the choices that I’ve made to end up here. Three times a day I seriously regret never having married rich.

So today I would like to confront some of the negativity that burdens my soul. I would like to briefly list some of the day-to-day encounters I experience that cause my jaw to set and make me fervently wish I had access to the nuclear launch codes. Although my job is something that I find “highly stressful,” paradoxically enough, I will not be listing job-related annoyances here. For one thing, despite the fact that people are idiots, customer service IS an important part of my job, and it serves no purpose for me to list all the ways clients abuse the privilege of being able to reach out and annoy me. Hopefully, though, by listing all the other ways people make me want to stab out my eyes with shrimp forks, I will find the strength to help the morons nice people who call me at work looking for solutions to their problems Monday through Friday.

So, in no particular order, here we go:

1)People who take forever to complete that right hand turn. We’ve all been behind them. You’re going 45 miles an hour down a boulevard, and you see a car fifty yards in front of you turning to pull into the gas station. You ease off the gas ever so slightly, recognizing that, if they pull into the establishment at a normal pace, you won’t come anywhere near to slamming into their tailgate. And then, with growing frustration, you realize that they are inching their car into the parking lot as if they are afraid that contact with the concrete of the sidewalk is going to cause their front tires to pop. You end up having to slam on your brakes and come to a practical standstill because the fucktard behind the wheel doesn’t understand the concept of forward momentum. You glare at them as you move past, but they never see you because they are so clearly in a haze that they don’t recognize that anyone else is driving. They probably also don’t realize what time it is or what year they’re living in. They might be driving while on Ambien. They need to stop doing that.

2)People at the grocery store who are completely oblivious that their cart is blocking traffic for everyone else. Look. I live alone with four cats. (No, I take that back: I actually have a roommate. Hmm. I forgot about that for a second.) I feel like I live alone with four cats. My roommate is frequently gone for days at a time, so I know what it feels like to be alone with one’s thoughts, surrounded by nothing but cat hair and old episodes of West Wing. I get it. But, here’s the thing: When I step out of the confines of the Cat Palace, I recognize that it’s time for me to pay attention to other people. That includes, but is not limited to, being aware, when I’m out shopping for cat food, whether or not my cart is impeding someone else’s access to the aisle. It really isn’t rocket science. I use my eyes and my sense of perception, and when it becomes obvious that someone else is near me, I quickly check to see if they can continue about their day unhindered. I do not become so absorbed with trying to decide which flavor of Fancy Feast my feline friends would enjoy this week that I forget I am not alone in my pantry. Nor do I stand there oblivious to the world forcing other people to beg me to move like I am Galactic Queen Douchebag of the Vinegar Universe. I expect the same general sense of awareness from other people out in public. Am I expecting too much? Probably. (Note: It has already occurred to me that the people that take a week to make a right-hand turn are probably the same mouthbreathers that are blocking my access down the grocery aisles. I so don’t care. I despise them doubly and silently cast infertility curses towards their genitals in an effort to slow humanity’s slide. If we could just interrupt the cycle of stupidity for a generation…)

3)Waitresses and waiters who refuse to make eye contact with you. Really, lady? We’re gonna do this now?, I think every single time I end up with the Server from Hell. Listen, I am MORE than understanding when it comes to stressful jobs, (see above), so I can appreciate that you’re overwhelmed. Running eight tables during a hectic lunch hour may seem easy, but I’m sure it is much more difficult than it seems. I realize that you have to coordinate dealing with twenty customers all at once. And some customers are incredibly demanding–I know, I’ve eaten with some of them. Hell, sometimes I even AM one of them. But don’t let me sit here for five minutes without even acknowledging my existence! Again, I can tell from the crowd how busy you are. It’s obvious that I am going to have to wait my turn. But by not making eye contact with me, you’re essentially playing the grown-up version of “La la la! If I can’t see you, you’re not here!” Glance my way. Nod. Even give me the raised index finger, the universal symbol for “One second.” SOMETHING. Because every minute you refuse to acknowledge that your lunch hour just got a little bit more busy by me sitting in your section is a percentage point off your tip.

4)That asshole at the table next to me who won’t shut the fuck up. Oh my God, why didn’t I just bring my lunch? Not only can I not get my waitress to bring me a glass of water, I have to sit next to THIS GUY. You recognize him immediately. The table of four, earnest twenty-somethings who have that dazed look of naivete found on the faces of people who are slowly realizing that their $29,000 a year jobs are not nearly enough to cover their basic living expenses much less the student loan debt they acquired getting those marketing degrees from NC State. They all feel overwhelmed and under-qualified for the positions they’ve been thrown in, but they’re bound and determined to act just like those casual, successful 20-somethings in those Apple ads, because that is how reality is supposed to be. So they sit there, eating their turkey sandwiches on ciabatta bread or their sushi, with vague smiles on their faces as Mr. Confidence at their table dominates the conversation. Not only is he the only one who speaks during lunch–the other people are there merely to admire him and laugh in all the appropriate places–but he does so IN AN INCREDIBLY LOUD VOICE. It’s typically a conversation or story illustrating his awesomeness. It’s all I can do, when seated next to a table like that, not to shove the pepper shaker down his throat until he turns blue and passes out.

I think I’ll leave the list at that for now. Perhaps I will expand upon this topic in the future. If so, I might make addendums to this blogpost. Or, I’ll post a second one.

I feel better already. (Thank you, Therapy Blog!)