Preaching a Bit of Intolerance

We live in turbulent times. It is unusual to channel surf without learning of a group that has been offended by what another group said or did. We have safe spaces and open forums, patriotism, and protests. And anti-protests, which I do not understand as that would mean being against protesting, not to protest the protestors, which is simply another protest.

Anyway, if the thought is that we get smarter by opening our minds to varying thoughts, then my thoughts here are intended to challenge said smartism. Because I simply cannot tolerate certain things and even if it makes me sound a little stupider by saying so, I am willing to take that risk. Hopefully, no one protests.

For example, poodles. Cannot stand them. They are muskrats with a perm. Weak and fuzzy. They have names like Fifi, Chablis, and Nanette. They live for 45 years, becoming old, stinky, blind, toothless, deaf, and cough non-stop along the way. Give me Logan the Labrador, Butch the Boxer, or Chino the Chihuahua. All hard-wired to bury little Coco and her matching hat and boots in the yard before her second birthday.

How about men in Capris? Ugh.

Self-serve checkout. I do not believe in it. This is in direct violation of the time-honored check-out person/bagger accord that has been in place since your grandma bought tomatoes and pears at the corner market. In this relationship, people actually look at and talk to each other. Now, some genius at Gargantuan Foods wants me to make small talk with a faceless, annoying, beeping barcode scanner with the opportunity to bag groceries myself. Thanks, but I am already paying your guy to put the HoHo’s in the bag. Let that station get good and lonely folks, I’ll take the human lane every time.

Though contradictory to the last point, the concept of waiting in line is one that I do not accept. When a consumer makes the decision to buy something, the smartest vendor figures out how to get their money right now. Do not give me the chance to change my mind and spend elsewhere. When facing a fifty-minute wait, my decision is made in seconds. Sorry honey, you can go to the world-renowned Chez Georges the next time you are in Paris, we’re looking for a Denny’s. Now!

Men in their 30’s riding skateboards. Ugh.

Please help me with this one. Do tourists really crave fudge? Popular travel destinations are saturated with fudge shops. Not a hater, but I am sure you can buy fudge or something close to it at any one of the 8,000 plus Walgreens locations in the continental US. Who eagerly plans a vacation to see the wonder of Niagara Falls, the majesty of the Statue of Liberty, iconic Times Square, and the great fudge shops in the area?

Shih Tzu, Bichon Frise, Lhasa Apso (not Japanese, French, or Indian cuisine - dogs again). Picture Lassie the Lhaso Apso trying to pull little Timmy out of the well. Not a chance. Timmy drowns and the temperamental hairball pouts because his ribbon gets lost. However, Lassie the Collie saves Timmy, foils the bank robbers, and eventually becomes mayor of a small town.

We should also think about what goes on in the microwave. It is downright frightening. Press a button on a metal box and in two and a half minutes the lasagna that took forty-five minutes just to get warm last night begins to blister and boil from the inside, to the point of explosion. No fire, no flames. No gas or charcoal. Just something unseen that makes your shredded cheddar cheese hotter than molten lava in seconds. Then returns to being cool just as quickly. What kind of evil lurks within this device?

Facial tattoos. Bolts through tongues. Rings through lips. Hoop earrings. Nostril piercing. Geez, I remember PF Flyers being cool.

Men in their 40’s fighting nine-year old kids for a foul ball. Ugh.

Finally, soccer. Allegedly, the most popular sport in the world. Not in my backyard and not where I grew up. Twenty plus people in shorts chasing a ball around, then kicking it away and chasing it some more, often letting it hit them in the head. Do something wrong and you get a colorful card. How progressive. Soccer nets grow like dandelions in a field while over caffeinated park district managers angrily guard acres of unoccupied grass, so it does not get bent from such rogue sports as baseball or football.

Sorry, I will try harder to be more tolerant as soon as I get back from vacation. I am hoping my Speedo fits.

Men in their 50’s wearing Speedos. Ugh.

This column originally appeared in the Times, a Shaw publication.