Linger at the drive-up ATM after your transaction is complete.
Drive-up ATMs are a quick and easy way to make a deposit or grab some cash, as long as everyone follows the unwritten rule to move forward once you’ve received your cash and/or receipt. If you want to organize your handbag, clean up your glove box, sort through your wallet, adjust your mirrors, clip your toenails or whatever the hell you’re doing up there, handle it after you pull away from the ATM so the next poor sap can start his transaction! Sometimes I wish I had old Ben Kenobi riding shotgun, so he could Jedi mind-trick these jackasses: “Your purse does not contain the lip gloss you’re looking for. Move along.” As a side note, your transaction took for freaking ever, too. What were you doing, taking out a second mortgage on your home?
Pay with a personal check when shopping.
Who hasn’t been stuck in line at the grocery store when the person currently being rung up waits to hear their total and then digs out a checkbook? The collective groan from the crowd is like a somber Greek chorus. A check? Really? If you insist on paying with the 8-track tape of monetary transactions, at least get it out ahead of time and start filling it out while the cashier is price-checking your rump roast. You do have a pen, right? Because if you have to ask for one, I will roll up this issue of People’s Worst Celebrity Butts and start pummeling you. Now tear that piece of antique parchment from your checkbook and be ready to fill in the total due. That way maybe the angry mob behind you will extinguish their torches and put down the pitchforks. Maybe.
Use the fast food drive-thru for more than 3 orders.
I don’t know how many times I’ve sat behind a soccer mom’s minivan as the entire team, amped up on energy drinks, tries to place a drive-thru order. Their chaotic, shouted requests rival the New York Stock Exchange at opening bell, and the hapless crew member is sure to get all the orders wrong, resulting in further delays. Or the carload of drunks slurring their way through 5 or 6 convoluted orders (including “one butt shake and a side of thighs”). They’re so wasted they can barely control their bowels, but now they have a hankering for 73 tacos? When it comes time to pay, everyone in the vehicle pools their money and they inevitably come up short. Bickering and arguing ensues, and as I stare through their rear windshield it’s like I’m watching an episode of Big Brother: Burger Run. Clearly fast food joints need a carpool lane, or a 1 to 2-combo order express lane. Better yet, both.
Wear metal items during airline travel.
Unless you have a freaky fetish for being strip searched, you probably don’t enjoy going through airport security. No one does. So I’m dumbfounded by dumbasses that don’t dress accordingly for air travel. I’m talking to you 80s Madonna throwback chick with your wrist-load of bangle bracelets and buckle boots. And you there, rap star wannabe sporting the Mr. T Necklace Starter Kit. You don’t need to excessively accessorize when you’re being corralled like cattle and prodded through a metal detector. All those zippers, clasps and other fashion hardware are going to hold up the line. And let’s not forget shoe choice. I don’t want to miss my connection because you passed on a pair of sensible but stylish slip-on mules, in favor of thigh high, studded, lace-up dominatrix boots.
Attempt to back-up in a crowded parking lot after you miss an open spot.
I don’t know if your peripheral vision is failing or you were texting, yet somehow you missed an open parking spot. Sorry, pal, you snooze you lose. Better luck next time. But wait, now you jam on your brakes and your back-up lights come on. You’ve shifted to reverse! Do you expect me and the other 42 cars in line behind you to back up? That you get a parking lot “do over?” Apparently so, because here you come, rolling towards me in some sort of bizarre, backwards game of Chicken. Do I call your bluff and start inching forward, possibly escalating a road rage incident where I end up on the nightly news with a tire iron up my ass? Or do I say screw it, and shift into reverse myself, as I look at the driver behind me and give him a pained expression that tries to say, “The idiot at the head of the line is forcing us all to back up. Pass it on.” Either way, this whole motorized Mexican Standoff is inconveniencing a bunch of people, so just suck it up, admit you missed the spot and go find another one.