Grievances 2023

Welcome back, my friends, to that magical time of year when we air our grievances and tell the world how we really feel. That’s right, it’s Festivus, and what follows are my top five semi-lighthearted injustices of 2023 that I think you should be enraged about too. Enjoy.

1. Tipping

Tipping, or rather forced tipping, has gotten out of control in the year of our Lord 2023. 

And before you get all bent out of shape about what working people deserve, I should clarify that I’m not talking about tipped employees at restaurants or nail technicians at salons or Uber drivers transporting you from one place to another or hair stylists literally transforming your life. These people should always be tipped. Rather, I’m talking about glorified fast food restaurants that expect their hourly employees to experience the same kind of bell-ringing in the streets they received during a global pandemic when all they’re doing now is performing the tasks these establishments already pay them to do. (Here’s looking at you Qdoba and McCalister’s.)

Unlike the pandemic, I can now walk into any quick service restaurant, mask-free, and order my food. So why, when I pay for my order inside one of these places, am I still asked by a small card reader what percentage I would like to leave as a tip before I’m able to check out? Additional questions include:

• Who exactly am I tipping and why? I don’t remember meeting a tipped employee who is paid $2.13 per hour to take my order and subsequently serve me my food. When did fast food employees become tipped employees? Is this a new thing because I’m pretty sure it’s not. Then again I could be wrong, which is why nowadays I tend to panic-tip at fast food restaurants just like I panic-pee every night before bed.

• Why should I provide a tip when this establishment’s entire business model is based on the expectation that I quickly place my order and paid employees quickly prepare my food? We’re at a counter. They’re on one side and I’m on the other; I’m the one taking my own form of payment via the card reader; and I’m also the one getting my own drink from a “fountain.” Honestly, who should be tipping whom? 

• Why can’t I read the small card reader without my glasses? Also, there seem to be a lot of unnecessary steps on the card reader between the time it takes me to insert my card and put it back into my wallet. These eateries are trying to trick me into paying more money than I intended, right? Is this why the elderly are so distrusting? Am I next? Wait, this one I can actually answer: I am. 

From here on out, please, just take my card, charge me for my order, and let me move on with my life. And if that charge requires an additional fee for the cashiers then just do it and don’t ask me for my opinion on the percentage. These employees probably DO deserve to be paid more, which leads me to my last question: Why aren’t you, as an employer, paying them accordingly in the first place?

2. Hearing About How Cold You Are All the Time

I am hot nearly all the time, yet whenever I make a comment about how my body feels like the gateway to hell I’m either given the side-eye like I’m some large wooly beast or asked how old I am in relation to menopause. 

When it comes to the latter, the person’s response is always, “Oh, just wait, it gets worse,” which is quickly followed by a satisfied snicker like they’re the first to say something so clever to a perimenopausal woman. When it comes to the former, and after receiving the obligatory side-eye, the person (who is typically a woman) says, “Oh, really? Wow. I’m always cold.” She then gently retracts her hands into her sleeves, hugs herself tightly, and shivers – actually shivers – as if the mere thought of my thermogenic body temperature might cause one of her now chilled humerus’ to snap in two. 

My real problem with these frigid humans though isn’t that they address their own internal climate after I’ve just talked about my own. It’s that regardless of the conversation, they always seem to find a way to remind me how cold they are even when what we’re talking about doesn’t remotely involve body heat. “Can you believe the recent Colorado Supreme Court ruling? Even if I wanted to move there I couldn’t. It’s just too cold, and I’m ALWAYS cold.” Hand retraction, self-hugging, and shivering ensues. 

We get it. You’re fragile. You’re petite. Your bones are made of porcelain, and you always carry an extra sweater even in the summer (you know, just in case). You’re an ice-cold delicate waif who can’t imagine sweating through a light T-shirt in October while doing yard work, and you’re also a pain in the ass.

Perhaps I wouldn’t be as bothered by people who complain about how cold they are all the time if we as a society normalized sweaty people as also having feelings. I was sweaty as a kid, I’m sweaty as an adult, and I’ll be sweaty long after menopause too. Please, stop talking about how you “can’t imagine” what that must be like for me and then shiver on command like it’s your duty as a member of some glacial gang.

NOTE: This grievance excludes those who suffer from genetic disorders such as lupus, familial cold autoinflammatory syndrome, or Raynaud’s syndrome. These are very real conditions that I know negatively impact so many, including people in my family. I clearly did not inherit any of these disorders so I cannot directly relate. But I can judge those who don’t suffer from any of these conditions and instead choose to talk about how cold they are purely for attention. Sweaty people don’t want attention. In fact, we’d prefer it if everyone just looked away.

3. Meijer

As I said in last year’s Festivus blog, I absolutely loathe shopping for anything in person, so this particular grievance shouldn’t come as a surprise. Still, there’s something about Meijer that makes me want to set myself on fire more than any other store I’ve ever stepped inside, which is why it comes in at number three on this year’s list. For me, there is no place on earth that infuriates me more. Even combined, Chuck E. Cheese, CVS, and the DMV give me more hope for the human race.

Up until a few years ago, I shopped at Meijer on a semi-regular basis because of its proximity to my house and its convenience to both consequential and arbitrary items like toothpaste, throw pillows, spray paint, and milk. Also, their produce is pretty good.

Over time though, and especially after I found myself doing actual breathing exercises before each trip so I didn’t accidentally start the revolution or commandeer one of the 75 perpetually closed check-out lanes, I realized it was either time for me to limit these outings or prepare my family for their matriarch’s impending prison sentence. 

At Meijer, we as Americans are at our absolute worst, and it’s all because we think it’s our right to behave like feral cats for choosing not to shop at Walmart instead. Every aisle is packed, there is no ordered lane traffic (let alone the opportunity for pursuing), the elderly flash shanks while perched atop their Rascals, and mothers set their small children free in the hopes they will find another family. With the exception of Meijer employees (who are actually quite kind), everyone is mean, and every person is treated like they’re at a political rally for the opposing party. At least at Walmart everyone knows they’re a dirtbag to some degree, which is why I never feel the same level of vitriol or superiority while shopping there even though I still can’t bring myself to buy their produce. 

4. Holding Others Accountable for Our Own Happiness

This year, I had the pleasure of attending two milestone birthday parties for two women who hosted the parties themselves. My friend who turned 40 chose to hire a party planner to take care of all the details while my friend who turned 60 put in most of the work all on her own. Both events were magical and everything each of them wanted their parties to be. Driving home from both, I reflected upon how honored I was to be invited and how genuinely embarrassed I was that I’d never thought to do the same for myself. 

All too often, people (and especially women) rely on others to create their joy. Whether it’s a birthday party, gift, or a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, we seem to maintain the expectation that happiness should be provided to and planned for us instead of by us. Nevermind that you know exactly what you want when it comes to your perfect birthday party, piece of jewelry, or dream vacation. If it’s not being done for you, how can it possibly be gratifying? What’s more, when our hopes aren’t being fulfilled by others, it’s our loved ones we tend to blame even though it was always within our means to do what we wanted in the first place.

Since attending both of these parties, I’ve learned that holding others accountable for my happiness is truly ridiculous and something I’d like to think about more intentionally in the coming year. In my day-to-day work, I often say that 70 percent of my job is managing others’ expectations, so why shouldn’t I be better at managing my own? I’m an excellent planner afterall, so the next time I want a date night or a birthday getaway, I’m going to put in the work on the frontend and simply ask that my husband bring his checkbook. This seems more than reasonable, and an excellent way to achieve happiness in the long term. 

NOTE: Thank you, Mo and Rose, for setting such a wonderful example and for throwing yourselves such amazing parties in 2023. 

5. Colleen Hoover Books

I saved this one for last knowing full well that a vast majority of readers would sooner die than read anything negative about such a popular author let alone finish this blog. But alas, here we are, my final grievance of 2023, and I promise to make it quick. 

Colleen Hoover books are the bottom of the barrel when it comes to even semi-decent literature, and I implore anyone who’s enamored by her writing to contact me immediately so I can find you something better to read. With the exception of Verity, which is mystery smut at its finest and a novel I admit to reading in one sitting, her books really kind of suck. 

The plots are predictable and the characters are repetitive and underdeveloped. The sex scenes (including several in Verity) are cringe-worthy and the writing is downright sophomoric. What’s more, the consistent romanticization of toxic relationships and domestic violence in Colleen Hoover books is beyond the realm of poor taste; these themes are disturbing and send the wrong message to young women who are often the target demographic. The reason people like these books is because the writing is so incredibly basic, and they make you feel like you’re doing something to better yourself because you’re reading (“Books, Jerry,” for those of you in need of another Seinfeld reference). 

While I don’t love the idea of dissuading anyone from reading books and I readily acknowledge that I lack the vision required to write a novel of my own, Colleen Hoover books should be left on the shelves in 2024. Instead, try giving a banned book a chance. I hear they’re making a comeback in the new year.

As usual, Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night!