One constant we have in our lives is our amazing fortune when seated anywhere public.  No matter when or where I have attended a football or basketball game, there is one guarantee – either my husband or I will be seated next to either the biggest person in the arena or the loudest.  I’m not exaggerating this.  There’s a famous story about the game in which my husband spent several quarters with his arm around “Bubba.” Bubba was a complete stranger, but he was such a large man, that my husband had nowhere to put his arm except around Bubba’s shoulders or straight out in front of himself.  So hubby and Bubba became good friends.

During one infamous game, I was next to a line of young men (in their twenties, but they were young to me) who were several too many drinks into the evening before the game started.  The one next to me appeared to be the designated driver, but the guy beside him kept leaning over and asking me for advice – on his love life, his dog, and even what he should eat.  I suggested he sober up and watch the game.  (He didn’t take my advice.) The youngster next to me kept apologizing for their behavior.  I was relieved when they all left at halftime.

I’m telling you this because I was reminded of it on a recent trip to Colorado.  My husband was seated in front of an incredibly loud man.  Apparently, the gentleman was nervous and was talking to his own seatmate very loudly.  So much so, that even headphones with a movie playing could not drown him out.  I guess we were lucky that he wasn’t in the seat beside us, so maybe the luck is changing a bit.

The travel adventures didn’t end there.  The night of the memorial service, a group decided to use an Uber instead of a rental car.  No one was sure how much anyone would drink or how parking would look, so it seemed the best plan.

Until the driver arrived.   The very large crack in the windshield did not exactly inspire confidence. But the driver managed to get everyone to the location without incident – though the back seat was a little packed.

When visiting Old Colorado City, we had another incident that was not related to any other people.  We parked downtown to visit a museum and as we exited the car, my husband said, “I better put change in that meter,” then walked on by and into the museum.  So it wasn’t a surprise when he found a parking ticket on the car forty minutes later.

The parking ticket, however, had been drenched by a little shower. This made the envelope nearly unreadable and there was no glue left on it.  So mailing the payment in at a later date was going to be tricky. 

 My husband decided it would be quicker and easier to just find the municipal building and pay the fine.  He did so (which is a story for another day) and we went about our business.

 Until later, at a restaurant for dinner, when the woman delivering the food to the table looked at hubby and proclaimed, “Hey, I saw you at the DMV!”

Loud people just love us.

               Just last week, I was talking with a good friend about how we don’t seem to have many pincher bugs this year.  Those bugs (which probably have an official name) are those crawly things that have two little pincher-like forks on the end of them.  I had not – at that moment in time – seen any in our home.

               My friend, meanwhile, said she was tired of picking them up at her house.  The reason this came up was that I had been complaining about the inch-long worms that have appeared around our home.  They are tiny things, but there are literally hundreds of them outside our doors, on our outside walls, and  – often – inside.  That very morning I had removed three from the bathroom, four from the kitchen, and several from the rug in our family room.

               Yuck!  However, I was feeling pretty smug about not having pincher bugs. I mean, in the scheme of things, I guess little worms are better than those things.

               But I jinxed my luck.  The very next day, I made my morning smoothie and began to drink it while my husband enjoyed his breakfast.  Suddenly, I found something very non-strawberry-like in my mouth.  I spit it out into a napkin, expecting to see a strawberry leaf or a piece of plastic.  It was a pincher bug!      

               EEE-WWW!  I was grossed out to the max!  So now I have both worms and pincher bugs.  Super.

               That very night, we went to bed as usual, with me trying hard not to remember the feel of that bug in my mouth.  When we arose the next morning and went to feed the birds, the five bird feeders were all askew.  Raccoons, we figured.

               That evening, we decided to take the feeders inside.  We looked out at them, around 7 p.m. (well before raccoon rising time), and saw a little Rascal on top of one of the feeders, eating his heart out.

               I raced out with my duck-umbrella (bright red and yellow) and flapped it open and shut at him.  My husband raced out with a long pole and poked him with it.  Neither of these things phased him in the slightest.  He crawled up on top of the beam that held all the feeders and appeared to take a little snooze.

               Finally, my hubby got out the hose and forced him down and into the woods with the water.  We carefully removed all the feeders and brought them inside.  My husband placed a concrete block in front of the door to the little house in which we keep the birdseed bags, then sprinkled Epsom salts around the shed and the bird feeder area.  Feeling we had sent the message “go away” fairly well, we went to bed.

               The next morning, we found the door to the shed had been wrenched open.  Not only was the bird seed attacked, but the dill and cherry tomato plants in my herb garden (many feet away from the bird feeders) had been picked over. 

               Now we’re seriously concerned.  Clearly, we have more than one raccoon at work here.  We have begun bringing the feeders in at night and have locked the birdseed in our garage.  We also secured our garbage cans and put a new latch and lock on the shed door.  I’ve moved my dill (what’s left of it) near the house in a pot.

               This critter infestation has upset and distracted me to the point where I’ve forgotten to look where I walk. Hence, I stubbed my foot hard enough to fracture my pinky toe.  Pinchers and raccoons and worms, oh my.

I’m becoming convinced that people are the most annoying creatures on earth.  Worse than mosquitos, bed bugs, and even fire ants.  At least, in terms of annoying behavior.  After all, those other critters have brains the size of pin heads.  Humans, on the other hand, have large amounts of grey cells in their heads, and yet we so frequently forget to use any of them.

               My argument to support this theory begins in the grocery store lots.  Most groceries have two sizes of carts (not including electric carts and those big ones with toy trucks attached).  Hence, most parking lots have – in their dozens of cart corrals – two metal slots in which to place your cart once done unloading the groceries into your car.

               Common sense would tell us to put large carts on one side and smaller carts on the other side.  This not only saves wear and tear on the carts, but is helpful to the poor schmucks who have to retrieve those carts during thunderstorms, hail, sleet, and/or snow (all of which can happen on the same day in Ohio, season depending).

               One grocery store I frequent even has signs posted at the end of these slots.  BIG signs.  Signs that say “LARGE” on one side and “SMALL” on the other. 

               Now I realize that these are words that not every American can read, so I’m willing to overlook a few, occasional mix-ups.

               But these events are not occasional.  Every single time I go shopping, I have to rearrange carts in the cart corral because some human (or two or three) has put a cart into a slot with a differently–sized cart in front of it.  Then many more humans often add carts, willy-nilly, without thought to the size issue.

               Every. Single. Time.  This annoys me.  This annoys me a lot. And only humans exhibit this behavior.  You will never find a dog, horse, or firefly engaging in poor cart corralling.

               Then there are the humans that exhibit annoying behavior under the guise of “helping” others.  Here’s an example:

               Earlier this year I received a card with a little plastic card attached that entitles me to a free Junior ice cream (with another purchase) any time all year long.  This was a reward for something I did and I was thrilled.

               I put the card into my wallet, as it fits perfectly into one of the many credit card slots.  The little plastic card could be removed and put on a key ring (it has a little hole for that purpose), but I don’t like things hanging on my key ring.  Plus, in order to use it, I’d have to give the clerk at the drive-through window my keys.  That would be (no surprise here) annoying.

               So, the first time we used it, we ordered the junior ice cream, a regular ice cream and a diet soda. When it was time to pay, I handed the card to the clerk and she said, “Oh, you can take this off the card and get a free ice cream every time you come for a year.” As she spoke, she ripped the little plastic token off the card, then handed it back to me, tossing the bigger card into a trash can.

               I sat stunned.  I didn’t want it off the card.  I wanted it on the card, in my wallet.  Miss Helpful Clerk was unaware of my distress and proceeded to charge me $5.42. 

               “Excuse me, but isn’t the junior ice cream free?”  I asked.

               “Oh, yeah,” she replied.  “I forgot.”  

               Annoying.  My cat is less aggravating, and she’s a wacky thing. 

               Humans.  Yep, we’re just exasperating.

               Last week we went to a minor league baseball game.  They are always fun, and even more so now that the 30-second pitching rule has gone into effect!  While there, we enjoyed the game, the people-watching, and the yummy, not-on-our-diet food choices.

               At one point, the lady seated beside the man next to my husband decided to leave the stands for a treat.  We knew this because much later she returned with popcorn.  But in the moment, what we noticed is that rather than make about ten of us stand up, she opted to climb over the seat in front of her.  The row in front of us was basically empty at this point.

               Let me digress to mention that this lady was 82 years old.  I know this only because her husband – who was sitting next to mine – mentioned this fact after what we now refer to as “the last time” incident.

               The lady got one foot over and onto the ground.  In pulling over her second foot, it became wedged between the seat and back of the chair, with the seat pushed up.  She could not free herself.  Her husband – who we later learned was 86 – attempted to rescue her by pulling on her arm. This only pulled her off balance and made her lean into the leg that was stuck.

               My husband, busily engaged in eating his own popcorn, threw down his handful of corn and grasped her by both arms.  He probably could have lifted her straight up – as she weighed about 80 pounds – but he didn’t want to (a) alarm her or (b) hurt her further.  He helped her husband pull her up enough that she was able to extricate her leg and get both feet on the ground.

               She was unhurt and laughing and as she walked by me, she grinned and said, “That’s the last time I try that!”

               She returned with the popcorn and enjoyed the rest of the game.  Our husbands developed a game-long friendship and exchanged stories throughout the afternoon.

               Her “last time” reminded me that I’ve had a few of those myself.  About 20 years ago, I took my last swing on a monkey vine.  For those of you not raised in Pennsylvania, that’s a grapevine big enough to swing on.

               My hubby, son, and I were walking in our woods when I noticed a large vine swinging from a tree just off the path.  It looked to me like it would swing out over the ravine and back quite safely.  I squealed with delight and said, “Oh, look, a monkey vine!  I haven’t done this in years.”

               As I grabbed the vine and got a running start, I was barely aware of my husband saying, “I don’t think that’s a good…” as I swung out over the ravine.  As he ended his sentence with “…idea,” the vine snapped and I plummeted several feet to the ground on my posterior.

               I wasn’t hurt – at least not much – but had the wind knocked out of me.  I heard complete silence from my family above and when I finally turned around to see if they were coming to help me, I saw them both doubled over, laughing so hard they couldn’t make a sound and could barely breathe.

               Yeah, that’s the last time I tried to swing on a vine – of any kind. 

               Sort of like the last time I went water skiing…but that’s a story for another day!