Mild Irritations (Volume One)

Now regular readers will know that I’m not the type of person that’s easily rubbed up the wrong way (pun intended). Yes, there are a few aspects of modern life that irritate me to the point of total despise for them; Starbucks, Primark, Capitalism, Tories and Civilisation as a whole, yet there are a couple of other nagging aspects that niggle away at me.

Lateness

Time is a construct, probably one of the greatest, most mind-boggling, mathematical subjects ever. I have no idea how some smart bastard all those years ago decided how many seconds would go in a minute and how many minutes would go in a hour and how many hours would go in a day … (I could carry on, but I’m assuming you get the picture). Time as a working concept is brilliant, we should all knee before its absolute awesomeness. The thing is, plenty of humans inhabiting this water-filled rock hurtling through space, can’t seem to work around time’s confines. I can forgive a few minutes here and there, but if you’re over 15 minutes late we have a serious problem. Being late irritates me to the point that I don’t want to be conceived as someone that is late, so I often turn up early, so if I’m meeting someone that is late, they may be 15 minutes late, but I could have been waiting around 25-20 minutes for them. Those fucking scumbags! Time is important, much like your virginity; once it’s gone, it’s gone FOREVER. It’s also like your virginity because you often lose it on the wrong person.

“Well you know me, I’m always late!”
- Some Cunt

Yes, I do know you. I know you’re always late. You know you’re always late! Why don’t you fucking make it so you can be in the designated meeting place at the designated time? It’s on you to turn up on time; it’s not on me to turn up late. 8.00pm! 8.00pm! We agreed to meet at this time, you fuckwit. It’s not a rough estimate. It’s the chosen time!

When my pizza is delivered late, I get it for free. So maybe people that arrive to meet me late should give me something. What that something would be, I don’t know. I assume I’d have to decide because if someone is unable to understand the simple task of being at a certain place at a certain time they’re probably lacking the brain cells to decide on a gift to present me with.

Of course, I have to make exceptions for my loved ones. Not my mother, nor my girlfriend, but for the one and only; Adam French (my BFAM; Brother From Another Mother). Adam French is to lateness what Bill Hicks was to stand-up, what Pele was to football, what George Best was to drinking and what Ben Broughton is to premature ejaculation. Not only has he took turning up late to new levels, he has redefined it to preposterous, unconceivable dimensions. He has thrown off the previous shackles of time that all other humans live by, instead he conducts his day according to his own time; ‘Frenchie Time’. He may say he’ll meet you at 6.00pm Sunday, and you may not see him until 4.00am Saturday, it’s just the gamble you take.

So there we have it, people turning up late is a mild irritation. A major irritation, to the point you think you may have to change your name and flee the country is; periods being late! A late period is around a BILLION times worse than a simple individual turning up late.

Mismatching Cutlery

We are a civilised people. We no longer dine by forcing food down our gullet with our bare hands, unless eating fast-food, snacks or fruit. We have knives, forks and spoons. These utensils make it easier to eat such things as roast dinners, too keep our hands from getting burned or all horrible and sticky. Obviously this is something I have become accustomed to. Yet, I do prefer my knife and fork too match. And when I say “prefer”, I mean “NEED”. I’m not a fucking barbarian, who serves up food and gives out cutlery that doesn’t match? Idiots! I understand at this point I may come across as some sort of up-tight, pompous toff, but I’m not, I’m far from it. I don’t need everyone’s cutlery to be the same as each other; I don’t care if their knives and forks match individually. I just need mine to be identical.

Here I should provide you with a reason. But alas, there isn’t one. It’s just the bloody way it is, OK? There’s no deep routed disturbance at work. It’s not like my father left my mother one day after sitting down to dinner to discover his knife and fork displayed different patterns. Nothing in my life has affected me in a way that I have any feasible reason or justification to have such an irritation, I just need it too be that way, it makes dining a much more enjoyable experience. Try it and you’ll agree.