I really cannot stand that euphemism, pass on. What does it really mean? And anyone who dares say that I have “passed on” can be assured of being haunted by me. I will pass that on! A friend of mine sometimes borrows my copy of the Boston Globe to check what he calls “the Irish sports page,” the obituaries. I too check the obituaries on a daily basis just to make certain I am not listed there. So far that has worked just fine and has meant I will enjoy a good day. As yet I have not decided what I will do when I do see my name there but having a party comes to mind.
Don’t you just love it when you are feeling, and looking, absolutely miserable and someone asks, “is everything all right?” I always want to get seriously sarcastic at such moments but good manners generally wins out and I’ll say something mild like, “does it LOOK like everything is all right!?” I think I would prefer someone to say, “hey, you don’t look so hot, what’s up?” At least they acknowledge the obvious and are offering the possibility of comfort.
Here’s another good one. You are in a crowded grocery story and are standing in one of the long check-out lines. You have waited extremely patiently while the woman in front of you stares at the cashier while she checks the person out and informs her of the total. Then, she opens her pocket book and proceeds to search through it for her check book which she eventually finds and then asks the cashier for the amount again. Then, just as she’s finishing the check she asked if the cashier scanned all the coupons she forgot to give which she then plops down and the cashier scans which of course means a new total and with it a new check has to be written. Of course the longer line to my left has now gone down and people I saw behind me are finishing up being checked out. Yes, this has happened to me.
That one is similar to sitting in your car in a long line waiting for the light ahead to turn green when a guy in a BMW screams by you in the left turn only lane and suddenly turns on his right turn signal so he can edge into the front of the long line in front of you. At time like that I wish I had a shotgun to shoot out his tires with.
I go to this coffee shop in Boston’s Back Bay pretty much every day. Right in front of the shop and on the street is a sign that says parking is for commercial vehicles only, sic delivery trucks. But you can almost always count of some guy in a Mercedes or other high-end car parking there so he can run into Starbucks for his coffee. No, I do not go into Starbucks but the other coffee shop, Au Bon Pain, which is next door. Still, I want to gain the “special” status such people have that allows them to park with impunity wherever they desire.
I do have other pet peeves but I think those are enough for any post.