Peeves? I’ve got a lot of pets
I am taking a break this week from writing about guns and violence, drug dealers and other social ills of society.
I am going to take a break this week from writing about guns and violence, drug dealers and other social ills of society.
My inbox assures me there still will be plenty to write about next week as crime happening daily is as dependable as the next day’s edition of the New Haven Register.
And though they may keep quiet about it, I am pretty sure cops, social workers, ministers, teachers and the combined forces of nonprofits have those days too when they just don’t want to deal with it.
So I am going to switch gears and write about other things that just don’t make sense and frustrate me as a consumer.
Let’s start with the obvious fake reason that some big-name chain stores are using that require people who are purchasing cigarettes to show their driver’s license.
I am told by the PR flacks of one of these companies that it is to ensure everyone is treated equally when asking for identification to determine if you’re old enough to buy a pack.
Like the British say, poppycock.
It is clearly a tool that is being used to track the age of people who are smoking. I am furious that I have to show my license or leave the store and buy elsewhere.
A person would have to be blind or at the very least Mr. Magoo not see the gray on my head, despite Just for Men.
At one of these places I can even buy alcohol without showing my license, so save the politically correct podium speech. You’re doing research on people and you damn well know it. Next up? AARP. Please leave me alone. I get a reminder from you every week that I am over 50. I see the commercials and must admit, I don’t know AARP. But nor do I want to — at least not for the foreseeable future.
I am sure AARP offers plenty of “exciting” discounts and opportunities, but I don’t know what they are because I never open and read the mail. In fact, doesn’t AARP get the mail back? I put them in recyclables.
Much like AARP, I am sick of those “notices” about burial insurance that come from Mutual of Omaha and, for that matter, the sudden barrage of literature I am getting from funeral homes.
What’s with these companies that want to walk with you toward death like they’re your friends? The doctors at the VA hospital in West Haven say I am in great shape, so sell it somewhere else.
Speaking of sales, can someone tell me when men’s feet went to a one-size-fits-all medium width?
Every time I go shopping for a pair of shoes, I cannot find attractive wide-sized shoes and think of the late, great Richard Pryor’s comedy skit “Tight shoes are a mother...”
For some odd reason, shoe manufacturers think all men over size 11 have narrow feet, and I feel like I have Godzilla feet trying on some of these shoes. And forget about stylish. The wide sizes I see available come with grandpa styling and Velcro straps.
And while we are on the subject, how can my size 13 feet fit perfectly in some size 12s, but some size 13s are tight enough to make my toes curl up? Let’s move on. When did chicken wings become wingettes?
Has anyone else noticed this ruse?
I always feel like I am getting ripped off when I order chicken wings because a chicken wing — depending on your eating pleasure — comes with three removable parts — but I only get one part per wing order.
So, how did one wing become two? It’s just wrong, though I still order. Maybe this is one case where marketing is genius.
Another thing that is beginning to wear me out are the long waits at the courtesy counter in supermarkets.
It just seems that between the numbers game, the banking services and the wire services, people who are there about “food,” hence the word supermarket, are just afterthoughts. I get they have to evolve, but why can’t supermarkets have someone on standby for people who are there for “food.”
And last — but certainly not least — on my list is Arby’s. Yes, Arby’s.
How cruel can this company be?
I see a commercial for this chain at least three times a day, but it doesn’t have any locations in Connecticut near Bridgeport, where I live. The closest ones are in North Haven and Danbury.
C’mon Arby’s, I can’t take a 25or 30-mile road trip to eat a sandwich. Either open some other locations or at the very least offer fast drone delivery.
After all, you have teased me enough: I want the meats!