Being called OCD
quite strange. I mean, I’m a pretty neat person. And by neat, I mean clean, and orderly, not cool. Although I consider myself to be pretty cool too, but that's not really the point here. The point is, I don't like clutter. I like things to be organized. I like things to be tidy. This according to some people makes me OCD, which is a highly inaccurate, erroneous assessment. OCD, or Obsessive compulsive disorder, is an actual medical condition that can become very serious for those afflicted. It’s characterized by fixating on minor issues, and having constant, uncontrollable urges to repeat the same actions over and over again. A person with OCD might not be able to walk past a picture hanging on the wall without touching all four corners of the frame, or might incessantly flip the light switch off and on for no other reason than they can’t help it. That’s what OCD is. It’s an actual ailment. It’s not putting dishes in the dishwasher right away, instead of leaving them in the sink for no god damn reason. That’s just called, not being a slob. You should try it sometime you filthy bastards. And while we’re at it, I also don’t care for the term “Neat Freak”. I’m cool with the neat aspect. As I said earlier, I do consider myself to be a neat person, both figuratively and literally. However, I don’t care much for the freak part. Really? I’m a freak now. I don’t know about you but I hear the word freak, and I think Jeffrey Dahmer or John Wayne Gacy. And you’re going to lump me in the same category, because why? Because I vacuum the living room rug every day? That makes me a freak? I also clean out my car on a weekly basis, so I might as well be the Son of Sam, right? Although my neighbor’s dogs do bark a lot. Which brings me to the next thing I don’t understand...
My Neighbor’s dogs.
I’ve lived next to these beasts for 6 years and they still bark their asses off at me every time I walk outside. What the fuck, dogs? You should know who I am by now. Also, umm hello? I’m on the other side of the fence. I’m where I’m supposed to be. What is your deal? Stop acting like I’m threatening your well being, by grilling hamburgers, and minding my own business. Keep that shit up and I’ll bring the vacuum cleaner out here and give you something to bark at.
People who can’t figure out speeds on the highway.
Here I am stuck behind your dumbass on the freeway, when I notice you’re only going 55. The speed limit is 65, and you could easily be going 75 if you wanted to. But whatever, I’ll just asssume you’re super old, or you have donkey brains or something. I’m just going to pass you on the left now because you’re clearly in no rush, and.... wait what the fuck! I see now you’ve decided to become Mr. Leadfoot, as you’ve gained momentum and are now going 80. I’ll go ahead and get back behind you again, as you’re now going the appropriate speed.... Ah, I see this has prompted you to drop back down to 55 mph. Are you kidding me right now? What type of person does this sort of thing? I hope your head gets chopped off in a freak helicopter accident.
Edit: Ok, so maybe I shouldn’t wish death upon a person based solely on their driving. I realize that now. Because what this person deserves is something far worse than death. Oh yes. You see, death would be the easy way out for such a miserable piece of turd. Instead I wish for their internet to run very slowly at all times, for the rest of their life. I wish them an eternity of feeling like they have to sneeze only they can’t. I wish that the fitted sheet on their mattress slips off from the corner of the bed and bunches up by their pillow every night. I wish that they never get fresh fries from McDonalds ever again, I wish that they always have at least one fingernail cut too short, so that the skin underneath the nail is exposed and it hurts every time it touches something. I wish that they wind up stepping in a puddle every day, but always in the morning, so that they have to deal with wearing wet socks all day long. Also I hope they never obtain the foresight to bring an extra change of socks. Last but not least, I wish for every fun size Starburst package they open for the rest of their life to be double yellow. That’ll teach them won’t it? That’ll teach those bastards not to drive slow in front of.... My god, I have issues, don’t I?
Pregnancy Cravings
Ever hear a pregnant woman say something like, “The baby wants Funjuns.”
No it doesn’t. You want Funjuns. Don’t blame it on the baby. They don’t even know what Funjuns are. That baby has never been inside a 7-11, they’re not aware of the variety of snack choices that are out there. That baby isnt just sitting inside you thinking, “ Man I could really go for some Gummy worms right now.” Instead, it’s just staring at your uterin wall thinking things like, “I wonder what thoughts are.”
What is it about a tiny human growing inside of you that makes you suddenly want to eat entire jars of pickles? The cravings are just so spontaneous and random, they don’t even make sense. Especially when your wife decides she wants a funnel cake on a Tuesday night. What are you supposed to do then? Ok, let me just drive to Six Flags real quick. Now I’m in my car driving around aimlessly, asking my phone to locate the nearest carnival. Fifteen minutes later I wind up in the parking lot at Shoe Carnival. Thanks a lot, Siri! Now not only to I have to return home without a funnel cake, but I also have to explain why I just bought two new pairs of Sperrys. How am I going to pass up a BOGO sale?
Tipping
Please don’t misconstrue this, I’m not opposed to tipping in general. However, I am a little miffed, with some of the tactics being used by these middle speed restaurants. That’s what I call them. See, you’ve got your fast food restaurants with drive-thrus, and then you have your slower, sit down, and be waited on, types of restaurants. But you also have the in-betweens... places like Panera bread, or Five guys or Fuzzy’s Tacos, etc....
These are places that don’t deliver, yet the receipts have tip sections on them, and some of these places have tip jars on the counter as well. I once had a guy actually say to me, “You know, tipping isn’t required, but we are trying to encourage it.”
Yeah, well ya know what buddy? Punching your face isn’t required either, but you’re certainly encouraging that now aren’t you? The whole concept of gratuity was designed to offer an incentive to workers for providing a service. So what service did you actually provide, pal? I mean, what did you actually do?
You took my order and handed me a pager. That’s it. I filled my drink myself, picked up my food from the kitchen window myself, and bussed my table myself. The way I see it, if anyone is entitled to a tip in this scenario, it’s me. Not you. And don’t infer this rant as me just defending being frugal. Go to the Great Clips by my house and ask those ladies if I’m a good tipper. Ask the delivery guys at the local Dominos if I take good care of them. Shit, not only do I tip them well, but I watch the Dominos pizza tracker intently to ensure the safety of my driver. If I see that Steve left the building at 5:42 and it’s now 5:57, I’m legitimately worried about him. I’m ready to call 911 and alert the authorities about his disappearance. Where the hell is Steve? My pregnant wife wants Dominos,
but only because the baby wants Dominos. More that that, I want Dominos. Maybe he got stuck behind a slow driver. Man what I wish upon slow drivers, you have no idea. Anyways, all of a sudden, I hear my neighbors dogs barking their asses off. This could only mean two things, either someone is outside, or a leaf just fell off a tree. I spring off the couch and fling open the door. And what do I see, but Steve in all his glory, standing there with a delicious smelling bag of fresh Dominos goodness. I’m so happy to see him that tears are rolling down my face. He hands me the receipt and I fill out the tip section with a big emphatic $5. I notice his brand new Sperry’s while handing him back the receipt.
“BOGO sale at the Shoe Carn?” I inquire.
He nods and confirms that it is so. I bid him adieu and stay on my front porch just to make sure he makes it back to his car alright. See, that’s what tipping is all about. People taking care of people. Steve provided me with a service and was compensated accordingly. That’s how things work. You get a tip for doing actual work. You’re not getting any money for handing me a pager. It’s just not happening. I don’t know, maybe I am cheap. Perhaps I’m just a little old-fashioned. Chances are, I only feel this way because I’m OCD.
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