Street Talk/Mark LaFlamme

Boneheads and dawdlers make gripe list

So, I’m suffering a sucking chest wound and I’m standing in line at a corner store. In my pale, shaking hand I’m holding a small box of Band-aids I hope will stop the bleeding so I can get back to work. But it’s a long way to wound repair because the man in front of me has grown roots at the cashier’s counter.

He has removed his shoes to make himself more comfortable. He’s packed a lunch on which he is now munching. He is banked out for an afternoon of lottery ticket scratching and the dreams of wealth are so enormous, they float around his head like bubbles.

Long story short: I lost three pints of blood and didn’t get my Slush Puppy that day. My only consolation is that the man with the lottery tickets didn’t win diddly. In fact, nobody who scratches off more than a half dozen tickets in the line in front of me will ever win. There is a form of voodoo that a frustrated reporter standing in line can cast out like a fishing net full of bad luck.

I have nothing against the allure of easy money through the various lotteries. It’s when it becomes an all-day indulgence at the counter that I start to employ the ageless art of Voodoo Fu.

I think of it only because I was recently asked for a list of day-to-day gripes. The people who asked me for this are now being treated by psychiatrists because man, I can go off on a gripe. I can gripe to you in six languages, including extraterrestrial. I can gripe standing on my head under water or frozen in a block of ice.

For instance, what’s up with people who park their cars directly in front of the only entrance to a store or shop? I mean, park close to the door by all means. But 6 inches in front of it? You require other patrons to walk over or through your vehicle to get where they’re going and we think really mean things about you.

Park 6 feet away and enjoy the healthy walk across the lot. See the world, for gosh sakes.

The people who commit this gripe-inspiring parking atrocity are typically perfectly fit 20-something women who park in front of the door while sullen boyfriends slump in the front seat. The sullen boyfriend is a pain in the butt, too, because you have to climb over him while walking through the car.

I have gripes, people. And so do you. Some of them might be the same gripe, so let me unleash the first half of the first page I have before me.

What about people who push the “walk/don’t walk” buttons at intersections when there is not a car or truck to be seen for miles? What, are you afraid there are invisible cars, like the creature from “Predator,” just waiting to spring out at you? Does that neon hand on the sign comfort you somehow?

What about people who call you by mistake and then get irate because you are not the person they were trying to reach?

How about those jaunty couples who let their toddlers record the messages on their answering machines? That isn’t cute. It’s time-consuming and frustrating. It’s also a possible violation of child labor laws and I’m contacting the proper authorities.

What’s up with people who pull up to a McDonald’s drive-through and then spend 10 minutes deciding what to order? It’s McDonald’s, bonehead. They don’t have filet mignon.

What’s up with 19-year-olds smoking cigars? By law, you should have to be 35 years old to smoke a cigar. And you should be 40 before you’re allowed to pontificate while smoking a cigar.

But of course, gripes are a matter of perspective. Your collar catches fire because you’re so steamed about that lady at the fast-food drive-through. Then, on your drive back, with the smell of warm McDonald’s food floating through the car, you see a woman wearing rags and pushing a shopping card up a cold, dusty street.

They call them gripes rather than “life-altering situations” because they are inconveniences that should not be examined at length. Spend too much time grousing about trivialities and you will be labeled a whiner.

And don’t you just hate a whiner?

Mark LaFlamme is the Sun Journal crime reporter. You can gripe about his gripes at [email protected].