I’ve become (unnecessarily) ornery in my mid-30s. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been irritated. Mostly by things like traffic jams, income taxes and the Detroit Lions front office. But as I march toward 40, I’m vulnerable to Joe Goldberg-level schisms in my peace of mind via the mundane. Yesterday at a grocery store I tend to avoid, I saw a man’s face and thought: “I want to punch that guy.”
And for no good reason!
He might’ve been a fine fellow for all I know. No matter. The point of addressing my crankiness up front is to provide a lens through which the rest of this post is written. I think I’m right. I’m irritated by almost everything. And since my writing has been mostly dominated by the Berry Chronicles as of late, I figured this might be a nice reprieve.
Or an angry one. Here’s my incomplete list of rants to kick off the new decade.
I’m tired of Republicans. I’m really tired of Democrats. People are fed up with social media because they’re inundated with foreign policy expertise from a townie they went to middle school with.
We get it, Chad, you’re an edgy savant because you watched House of Cards.
Republicans used to corner the market on political dumbass-ery. Then lo and behold, we elected the worst human on the eastern seaboard. And Democrats responded by giving presidential debate airtime to the wizard countess, Marianne Williamson. Suddenly, an inclusive government became “the 7th circle of hell shall consume you if billionaires don’t pay for free college.” #canceled
You have friends begging for help with mental health via endless selfie streams. But you’re too busy bitching about mental health laws in a state you’ve never been to. You’re ignoring friends starting businesses and trying to make a name for themselves. But you made Kylie Jenner a billionaire off of lip kits.
AND SHE NEVER EVEN USED TO HAVE LIPS! COME ON!
Trust me, no one is changed by your opinion (including this one). But doing something in support of the people you argue for in between Starbucks runs might help.
I’m tired of companies that babysit. Unless you’re manning a lawn mower or performing open heart surgery — you can do your job remotely some, or even most of the time. It’s 2020! Henry Ford firmed-up the assembly line and the 40-hour work week 107 years ago. Back then, women couldn’t vote. And if you wanted a steak, you had to find a rifle and kill it yourself.
But this isn’t even about juxtaposing old with new. Who in the name of our hand-slapping holy Pope would hire an adult human with years of collegiate, personal and professional experience just to unironically tell them they can only do their job at a formica-colored desk while wearing business casual during regular business hours?
I’ll tell you who — the Detroit Lions front office.
Oh, and a host of dorks in middle management who will lose worthwhile employees to smarter companies. (Invariably run by billionaires, who are evil).
Here’s a thought that never entered a boardroom at Sears, Kmart or RadioShack — let people think freely. Let them do it in shorts in their living rooms, or on a beach. Trust them.
If not, I’ll write another rant about it. Happy 2020.