I Get Annoyed By a Lot of Things

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However much I’d like to think I am level headed and easy going, I’m not. I get annoyed pretty quickly by lots of things that I find objectionable. People dithering; poor grammar; a lack of attention to detail; slow drivers; unpunctuality; brown shoes with black pants; poor value for money; milk cartons on the table; carelessness; people who wear hoop earrings; purple; made up verbs, like ‘ to incentivise’ or ‘to diarize’; snorers; being told to ‘Cheer up!’.. I’ve only just scratched the surface. I’m impatient, quick tempered and often say something without fully considering the consequences. This trait has landed me in trouble more times than I am willing to recall. CM says that, with me, there’s always an undercurrent of violence, hovering just below the very British surface. He would practice ducking, but he also knows I’m a terrible aim.

I like to think my brain is pretty quick. I am constantly disappointed, however, that my mouth is quicker.

Air travel is one particular area where I have to be very aware of how much damage an of- the-moment sarcastic comment or an impatient, snappy, vocalized thought can do. I try and remember what my father has drummed into me throughout my life: Remember, in any given situation, who holds the power. Calling the doctor’s surgery to make an appointment means you have to kowtow to the receptionist or you won’t get an appointment for a week; always be nice to wait staff, however bad the restaurant, as they have direct access to your food; and always, always respect anyone with a shiny badge and a supply of rubber gloves.

Anyone who travels a lot is aware of the glaring inconsistencies with security checks and knows that these make a mockery of the whole process. Same airport on different days or different airports on the same day – nothing ever seems the same. Shoes on or off? iPad out of your bag or not? I find it frustrating that something so important seems so haphazard. It is inconceivable that, on numerous occasions, so-called ‘prohibited’ items have not been removed from my carry-on luggage, seemingly just because the person staring at the x-ray screen was distracted as my bag passed through the machine.

The list of prohibited items seems equally as random. According to the TSA website, in my carry on luggage, I am not allowed (amongst other things) cattle prods, hand grenades, or knives. That seems fair enough. I am, however, permitted to have to hand the following items: metal scissors with blades less than 4 inches, a screwdriver less than 7 inches in length and a disposable razor. None of it makes sense to me! I know how much flesh damage can result from using a cheap disposable razor.

I always, without fail, cause the alarm to be activated when I walk through the body scanner. I practically strip off before going through it, longing for the day when I am not subjected to a ‘gate massage’ by a woman official waving what looks like a very big TV remote over my body and then patting me and stroking me, making me flinch and cringe so much that I must just look guilty.

My most hideous moment came as a result of me not managing to button my lip in time to stop myself back-chatting an official. I was annoyed at being told by one person that I didn’t need to take my shoes off and then getting snapped at my another to “Take off your shoes!” I may have muttered something about them needing to make up their minds. Or words to that effect.

One of them approached me with a glare.

“Did you have something to say, Miss?”

At which point, my carry on luggage was taken aside, unpacked and left for a while. I was escorted to the 360-degree Backscatter body-imaging machine, where I stood in a cubicle on a mark on the floor, with my arms outstretched. This technology detects hard and soft materials, hence taking an x-ray of your whole body. There was one official in the booth with me, talking on a phone to someone who was looking at the screen. They like to preserve the modesty of the person being ‘undressed’ by having the screens in an undisclosed part of the airport, so that you know that when you’re grabbing a coffee after your ordeal, you won’t bump into the man who saw you naked.

The part of the conversation I could hear made me realize my mistake in speaking my mind.

“Humm…yes..I see…OK….I’ll see if it IS underwired, shall I?”

At this point, somewhat too late, I remembered who held the power.

Other posts by Joanna:
Flying With Children – A Mother’s Thoughts
Ssh..Keep it a secret!
The Best of Both Worlds 
What Happens In Vegas