As I grow older, I find that more and more things tend to annoy me when I’m out and about.  I’ve always been sarcastic (which my own daughters now give back to me in spades – I guess they have been paying attention), but it seems to me as if society as a whole has become more impolite, self-centered, and “me”- centric.  Either that or I’m slowly turning into my own father (yikes!).  Here’s what I mean.

Let’s start with driving.  First off, there’s the speed limit.  It’s supposed to not only tell a driver how fast one can go, but it is also there to tell a driver how fast one should go (bearing in mind relative weather conditions, of course).  There’s nothing worse than getting on a highway or secondary road and getting behind someone who is dialed in at 15-20 MPH BELOW the posted speed.  Oh, by the way, the left lane on the highway is for passing, so if you want to drive to Cumberland at 45 MPH, for God’s sake – get in the right lane.  When I’m forced to get stuck behind these folks for a few miles, I start scanning the driver’s seat for Mennonite bonnets or veteran’s baseball caps.  Sometimes I can’t even see the driver (aka ‘The Flying Dutchman’).  Usually when I get the chance to get by them and glance over, my suspicions are confirmed.  Yep, that guy probably personally knew the Wright Brothers.  Good to see you out and about, sir.  I hope you find those buggy whips and whale oil you’re out shopping for – now get off the road.

Then there’s the young and middle aged drivers who swerve from yellow line to white line for no apparent reason.  Have they been drinking?  It’s only 10:30 in the morning.  Are they deep in prayer?  Nope, now I see.  Their face is planted in their cellphone – while they are driving.  Sweet.  I’d like to say something to you, but A) your radio volume is turned up so loud that my own vehicle windows are rattling and B) the conceal-carry permit your parents got you for a 16^th birthday present will cause me to pause before speaking up and offering some elder statesman-like advice. 

Let’s move on to the grocery store, shall we?  Do they even have cashiers anymore?  No, I don’t wish to scan all my canned goods and weigh my own produce.  I don’t work here, I just came in to shop.  Wait, there’s one lane with a real life cashier.  Great – and they even have a bagger.  Well, they did have one.  Not to sound sexist here, but nothing makes a grocery bagger disappear from the end of the check-out line faster than showing up as a middle-aged male.  One glance at me and they hit the break room before my first item even clears the scanner, so I end up briefly interning for a corporate grocery chain while I bag my purchases (and fight with trying to open the plastic grocery bags) as the cashier impatiently waits for me to enter the pin number on my debit card for payment.  Then they have the stones to ask me if I want to “round up” my purchase price as a donation for charity.  Get bent, ‘Fartin’s’ (I’ve changed the name here for legal reasons, but I think you know who I’m talking about).

Lastly (for today at least), let’s talk about the restaurant scene.  I sit down to glance at the menu, but where is it?  I inquire to the wait staff.  “Oh, you can scan our QR code for a digital version.”  Do you have a printed copy?  “No, I’m sorry, we don’t.”  Not to be a prick here, but then you can either tell me what you have or I can just start naming things off that I’d like and you can tell me if you offer it, because I’m not pulling out my phone and downloading some QR code for your menu.  Why do I need my phone in order to go out to eat?  Copier paper is something like a penny a sheet, so if I toss you a nickel, will you go in the back and print me off a version?  Honestly, printed menus have been around since the Stone Age (I’m assuming they actually used stone tablets back then), so we didn’t need to go “cold turkey” and eliminate them all together.  If your business model is hinging on having a printed bill of fare on hand, then maybe you shouldn’t be in business.  Hell, write it down on a chalkboard and show me where it is, I’ll get up and go look.   

Maybe it’s just me.  Maybe I’m the a%%hole here.

Tell me I’m wrong.