YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?

My daughter continues her blog of "You Know What I Hate?" It's very funny but I think I got her beat this week.

I hate being in a restaurant with wooden chairs and people scrape their chair across the tile. It makes me choke. Squeak. Squeak! I'm trying to have a quiet - SQUEAK - conversation.

I hate going to fast food burger restaurants with dumb teen customer service reps who have no memory for their jobs. They say, "Can I take your order". I'm thinking - "we can try but I doubt you can do it". The teen employee gives me the zombie expression which really says "I wish I was texting my friends". "I would like a number one combo". They say, "What do you want to drink?". I answer, "a Coke". The employee asks me, "Is this to dine in or to go?" I answer, "Dine in please". The employee returns with my fries and burger and then asks me again what I want to drink. I say, "Uh, like I said - a Coke, please". "Oh right. There you go. Is this to go or dine in?" Hello? Were you listening to my answers less than 30 seconds ago or were you in zombieland? Every time I go there, the teen employees forget. New employees each week, but the zombie brain must be a qualification. Good luck in customer service, kid.

You know what I really hate? Washing the cutlery. I'll wash dishes. Glasses. Pots and pans. I hate the cutlery. They sit in the sink, taunting me. "Wash me, wash me!" I leave the cutlery for my wife. I hate the cutlery.

You know what I hate? People who have extremely long leases on their animals, stopping the flow of pedestrians. I love dogs. I hate the stupid long leashes. They should be banned.

I hate people who walk on the bike path when there is a walking path available. We bikers ride fast. We can run over little kids who don't look for us. We can run over their parents who aren't watching their lovely children. I grab my brakes. Rubber burns. The parents look up like a deer in the headlights and say "oh, sorry". You're sorry?! I was up to 45 km/hr, pounded on my brakes, crushed my momentum, lost the vibe of a great ride, all so I wouldn't leave tire marks on your kid. Hey - get your kid off the bike path, ok?!

I hate going to the gas station to use my "speed pass". It asks me 5,000 questions before I can pump gas. Do you want a receipt? Do you want a wash? Do you have air miles? Did you remember your umbrella? You get it? Finally, after an interrogation, it lets me pump gas. Speed Pass at Esso? Ya right. At Shell, the pump asks one question - pick your selection. That's it. Esso? Bite me.