Walking My Pet Peeves

Most of my writing—and I certainly hope that you would agree with this—focuses on the positive, from my nutritional and fitness tips, to my motivational and inspirational messages—even my music and humorous stuff is created to not only entertain, but to educate (yes, even this sad self-deprecating homage to follicle longing).

Yet (and some close family members and lifelong friends may be inclined to debate this) I remain a human being, one with flaws, faults, foibles, and faux pas (and those are just the “F”s). I do not wear my Mike Foster-goofy-grin-with-green-teacup face all the time, especially while I am in a car, either driving it or witnessing someone else manning the wheel.

Certain peccadilloes of human bizarre behavior seem to present themselves more frequently while scooting through traffic, many of these irk, irritate, infuriate, and raise my ire (and those are just the “I”s) to the point of adding them to my list of pet peeves.

Take, for example, the directional signal. This is one misused, seldom used, and overused instrument of driving that drives me nuts.

Scenario One: You’re driving in a queue of traffic, approaching a left-turn-only turn lane, you:

a) drive into the lane, idle in traffic while waiting for the light to turn, then when the arrow turns green, and as you proceed to turn you put your left blinker on, effectively indicating to the other drivers that you are going to turn left…IN A LEFT-TURN-ONLY LANE!!!

b) Approach the intersection, start to weave into the left-turn-only lane, you stomp on your brakes, slow down to a maddening crawl, pull into your lane of choice…THEN PUT ON YOUR DIRECTIONAL, effectively indicating to the poor soul behind you that which he already knows.

c) You flip your directional indicator on several miles before your turn, click-click-clicking away in oblivious nirvana, then actually get into the left-turn-only lane, blinker blinking away like a manic tweaker, sitting in queue, click-click-clicking the obvious, then when the light turns green, continue through the intersection, your directional still snapping away as you proceed to make a left turn around the world.

d) all of the above...are idiots!

As you can see I have a bit of a problem with the left-turn-only lane and the misuse of the directional signal. But my annoyance with blinkers does not stop there, oh, no. How about the guy who swerves in front of you, sans blinker, then slams on the brakes…THEN PUTS HIS DIRECTIONAL ON!! Why bother, buddy?

Or how about what this guy has to say about pet peeves?

WALKING MY PET PEEVES



Then we have the fast lane versus the slow lane, or the left lane, what we used to call the passing lane back when I went to driver’s education, and the right lane, the lane reserved for those who are related to snails.

Can someone explain to me why anyone drives in the left lane, the supposedly passing lane, and refuses to drive the speed limit—I’m talking about driving BELOW the speed limit?! Anyone?

While this pet peeve rankles, riles, and ruffles my feathers (that’s right, those are just the “R”s), I also use it as a self-challenge in practicing patience…excellent time spent plotting diverse ways at torturing the slow-Joe creating his own personal parade in the high-speed lane. And then, after a month of driving behind this joker, I am finally able to pass, casting a stink-eye glance at the culprit…only to see that it is some harmless, kind-looking, elderly woman who bears such a striking resemblance to my mother my guilt overwhelms me to the point of almost driving into a tree.

Okay, I understand that most of us behave differently inside the protective, stereo-blasting, French fry-eating, cell phone-chatting, Facebook-updating safety of our own vehicles, but my last pet peeve so bothers, bugs, bewilders, and befuddles (uh-huh, just the “B”s) me I am almost at a loss for words…key word being “almost.”

Smoking. Anyone or anything. Anywhere or anytime. I will never understand why anyone who has ever learned to read past the third-grade level would ever smoke a cigarette. Besides being the most rude, reprehensible, repulsive, and ridiculous (need I say that those are just the “R”s?) habit I can imagine, it has been proven to be so unhealthy for you that to ingest burning leaves of tobacco into your once clean lungs can only be the actions of a crazy person…or someone who needs my help.

***Serious segue*** You can stop smoking, by the way, I did and millions of people have. My video site, livelife365.com, has hundreds of videos that can help. And even though I am about to go off on a tangent aim in your general direction, I really do feel for you…to a point.***

Anyway, where was I? Right, discussing in the form of a diatribe about how smoking is disgusting, dangerous, damaging, and degrading. Anyone who has ever shared an elevator car with someone who has just spent their fifteen minute break puffing away on a cancer stick understands what a preview of hell might be like.

Let’s pretend smoking doesn’t smell horrendous, or will kill you sooner rather than later, what about that dreaded smoker’s cough? Working in an office, I am serenaded daily by the hacking wheeze of the chronic smoker’s phlegm-filled foghorn bellowing from the mouths, throats, and, sadly, lungs of my clueless coworkers. Do I feel empathy and compassion? Yes. But I also feel sad and peeved, prompting me to take steps…like writing this blog post, and praying and hoping that someday, very soon, these misdirected and weak individuals will get the help they need to live the life they surely desire.

So, next time I am driving to work, watching the click-click-clicking of a misguided directional signal in the car in front of me, who is also hogging the passing lane for reasons known only to he or she, and I am finally able to pass this “interesting” person, and I glance over and notice that he or she is puffing madly away on a cigarette, I will—gulp—nod, wave, smile, and continue on my way, ready to embrace my day, knowing that when in doubt:

TAKE YOUR PET PEEVE FOR A WALK!


You’ll be glad you did.


Until next time…


peace,


Mike