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!
In all sincerity, I do not know ANYONE who had an even remotely decent 2024. This year was really shitty for a lot of people, which means there are more than enough grievances to air this time around. And although I could happily rage about a variety of topics, I’ve narrowed this year’s list down to five, which range in scope from semi-serious to downright shallow. Enjoy.
1. The Cost of Everything
I’ve absolutely had it with the amount of money it costs to exist as a human being in 2024. I’ve also hit my limit on what we’re being charged for things that are often much worse or, at best, the exact same quality they’ve been throughout most of my adult life. Everything from dish soap to eggs costs no less than $37 these days, and in two months these same items will likely increase by another $2.48 for no discernible reason whatsoever. What’s more, regular life bills are also increasing at an alarming rate even though none of us are seeing any increased benefits in the life services for which we’re being charged. In the last year alone, our monthly phone bill has increased by $17, our monthly vet bill by $14, and our monthly home internet bill by $15 all because why the fuck not.
I recently learned about the latest increase to our internet bill while on a call with the provider about an issue I was having accessing our bill online. After the very helpful and very young AT&T customer service representative helped me figure out the problem and I found out that by the end of the 2024 I would be charged yet another $5 monthly, I said the following, which I can only hope will someday be played for training and quality assurance purposes:
Me: “This is the third time in the last year my bill has increased by $5, which means that by the end of the year I will be paying $15 more a month for the exact same service I had a year ago. This is a basic internet package. No DirectTV. No HBO. AT&T ain’t put no bourbon in it or nothing.”
NOTE: I’m quite sure the young customer service rep with whom I was speaking did not catch my Pulp Fiction reference, but I’m hopeful that an AT&T quality assurance rep will.
Me: “Nothing has changed for me; my screens look the same, and things are still loading the way they should. So am I actually paying AT&T more to do the thing it’s already supposed to do? Am I essentially rewarding a multi billion dollar company for doing its job? Because no one else in this country is getting raises at the same rate as these corporations for doing nothing. No one is like, hey, we’re going to incrementally pay you more for doing the absolute bare minimum without setting any additional expectations or asking you to put forth any additional effort whatsoever. So if people aren’t getting paid more, why are we paying YOU more?”
NOTE: Here, I take a very long cleansing breath and remind myself that I am speaking to a customer service representative and not the people in charge of increasing the rates who are DEFINITELY putting bourbon in their milkshakes.
Me: “I need you to know this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with your employer who is literally price gouging the American people simply because it can. People talk all the time about politics and the price of things, but it’s really just big business that’s the problem in America”
NOTE: At this point I’m pretty sure I went on a blackout tangent about white men in suits with power until I regained consciousness and said:
“You are a kind, helpful person, and I’m grateful for the time you spent with me on the phone today.”
To which she replied:
“Yes, ma'am, of course. I understand. So uh, do you want to cancel your service?”
And I said:
“No, because I need to calm down and figure out another option first. My family needs the internet, which is exactly why your employer can continue increasing my bill.”
And while I wish I could end this story with the young woman triumphantly yelling, “Hell yeah, brother!” and then ripping off her headset and setting fire to both her bra and corporate headquarters, we actually just politely ended the call and got back to work because we both still have bills to pay and things to buy like dish soap and eggs.
2. Automatic Toilets
I curse the man – because it was definitely a man – who invented the porcelain nightmare also known as the automatic (or power-flush) toilet. Every time I encounter an automatic toilet in the wild I actually say, ‘I hope that son-of-a-bitch lost every cent he ever made on this thing in his divorce’ – because he’s also definitely divorced.
Not one part of me cares whether automatic toilets prevent clogs or reduce the potential costs associated with plumbing issues in heavily-utilized public restrooms. This is especially true at venues where I’ve just paid the price of a college education in 1930 for the ticket just to walk inside. Isn’t the cost of plumbing repairs already included in the ticket price? Shouldn’t basic upkeep be among the ticket’s many covert “service fees”?
Every time I use an automatic toilet, both water and piss – mine or someone else's – inevitably sprays my undercarriage and leaves me almost as uncomfortable as I was with a full bladder while waiting in line.
Most notably, the automatic toilet doesn’t allow for womens’ patented public-restroom-toilet-hover because there’s simply no point. The toilet-hover, which I firmly believe has played the biggest role in the evolution of female thigh muscles to date, is what we do when we want to avoid unnecessary germs touching our nether regions. Yet, in the midst of every automatic toilet hover attempt, when we’re sprayed with the residual pathogens we’re trying to avoid, we succumb to sitting down anyway and then make a mental note to purchase Monistat the next day.
Because regardless of whether we’re hovering or sitting, the water from the modern yet still somehow more medieval chamber pot beneath us automatically flushes whenever we move even a fraction of an inch. What’s even more infuriating is that after we’ve used every square inch of one-ply toilet paper in the stall to wipe ourselves down and finally stand up, the toilet does nothing and we’re left dumbly touching every other piece of filth on its backside searching for the manual flusher that’s never as easy to locate as it should be.
Did you know that you can purchase one of these actual pieces of shit for your home? If ever I was in the market for a new house and learned an automatic toilet was already installed, I would immediately ask to see the home’s den of iniquity since the current owners would most certainly be masochists.
3. Lack of Accountability
I’m not exactly sure when admitting we were wrong went out of style, but my best guess is that it was sometime around 2016 when our country first decided to allow an unapologetic orange narcissist run the show. Attitude reflects leadership, after all, which is why the simple act of saying “I’m sorry,” seems almost as wistful as watching home movies or witnessing a sitting president actually end his presidential bid after planting listening devices in his opponent’s headquarters.
Regardless of when the simple act of apologizing for a mistake became obsolete, it’s something I find both undeniably noticeable and altogether infuriating. From the workplace to my personal life, it seems as though very few people are able to hold themselves accountable for their own actions these days. Now, instead of simply saying, “I messed up,” people are much more comfortable placing blame on someone else or their mental health or a cataclysmic event that happened 14 states away. God forbid you own up to the fact that you forgot to print copies of the agenda for a meeting when you could just as easily fault anxiety caused by Hurricane Milton.
Perhaps what’s even more troubling than someone’s inability to hold themselves accountable for their missteps is their blatant refusal to acknowledge their own role in whatever went wrong in the first place. To do so would involve introspection, and what’s the point in doing all that when it’s so much easier to blame something or someone else while lying in a fluffy bed of self righteousness? Also, who has that kind of time anyway?
All of this to say, if you’re planning to make any grandiose resolutions in the new year, I beg of you to make accountability one of them. Start apologizing. Start owning up. Start realizing that maybe, just maybe, you’re a part of the problem. Otherwise, you’re no better than the orange man who will again take office in January, but who you allegedly didn’t vote in for a second term.
4. Millennial Women and Their Obsession with Youth and Socks
As an almost 43-year-old woman who has lived my entire life in a purgatorial micro generation that straddles the divide between Gen-Xers and Millennials, I have had the sincere privilege of acquiring traits from both generations while never perfectly aligning with either one. As such, I feel confident pointing out the worst in them both, especially since I don’t fully identify with their generational flaws. Purgatory has its perks.
Since true Gen-Xers are actually pretty scary and are also more than likely too busy figuring out how to pay for their parents’ elder care to give a damn about what I have to say right now, I’m going to pick on the Millennials and their incessant need to be viewed as young in 2024.
This is a topic that’s been on my mind for quite some time but really boiled to the surface and landed on this year’s list of grievances when Millennial women – GROWN ASS WOMEN – started posting videos about how their no-show socks were making them look older. To appear younger, they said, women should wear crew socks and never, ever wear sandals. Evidently, Generation Z does not like toes, feet, or ankles, and if Millennial women are to fit in and not “look old” we are to keep ours covered at all times. Oh, and Gen Z also hates high heels, so we age ourselves if we wear those, too.
Wait, what?
Do these women really think it’s our shoes and SOCKS that make us look older and not the earned cynicism seeping out of every pore on our aging faces? Also, do they actually believe Gen Z-ers think about us AT ALL let alone CARE about what we wear… on our feet?
Let’s be clear: Gen Z, whose members are currently between the ages of 12 and 27, are not thinking about anyone over the age of 30 with any regularity whatsoever. Unless the 30- to 40-something-year-old in question is a superior in the workplace or related by blood, Generation Z is not giving that person a second thought. And if they are, I can almost guarantee what they’re thinking has absolutely nothing to do with the grown-up’s feet. Also, they literally think of anyone over 30 as a grown up. YOU are a grown up, so act like one and start talking about something just a little more important than what kind of SOCK you should wear to somehow look younger as our country prepares to enter yet another apocalyptic season.
Neither sock length nor Botox can fix the fact that any woman over the age of 27 has both seen some shit and been through some shit in her lifetime. Instead of focusing on what to wear on our feet, we should recognize how much our lived experiences have shaped who we are and the value those experiences can bring to younger women who need and deserve SO much more from us than our insecurities about aging.
To the Millennials who changed their sock game this year in an effort to appear younger instead of just fashionable, I beg of you to stop playing into the stereotype of Millennial entitlement. Just because some of you were born in a 1994 economy does not mean you are also entitled to the fountain of youth. Affordable healthcare and the purchasing power to own a home? Yes. But youth? No. Also, you should really stop caring so much about what other people think. You’re too old for that nonsense, too. I’m confident that everything I put on my feet is fabulous, and whether or not anyone else agrees is their business, not mine.
5. “You’re Welcome”
This is probably the most Seinfeld-esque grievance I’ve ever written, but since this holiday is the result of Frank Costanza’s pettiness, I figure if ever there was a time to bitch about the use of “you’re welcome” when so few of us even hear the words, “thank you,” these days, it’s now.
First, please know there are times when “you’re welcome” is a perfectly acceptable response to someone’s “thank you.” If you’ve helped with a significant task or saved someone’s ass or given a particularly meaningful gift and a person expresses genuine gratitude for your service, by all means, respond with “you’re welcome.” But if all you’ve done is something mundane or expected and someone provides an off-handed yet still polite “thank you,” responding with “you’re welcome” makes me want to rescind my initial thanks and instead say something like, “Acknowledged” or “I see that you did a thing a person should do.” Honestly, I’m surprised there isn’t a Seinfeld episode addressing this topic.
To clarify, while “thank you” is obligatory, “you’re welcome” certainly is not. An unnecessary “you’re welcome” is self-serving and does little more than show the person who’s thanking you that you’ve officially doubled down on gratitude and are only showing up to give yourself a very minimally earned pat on the back. Eye rolls ensue.
So you said “get well soon” to a colleague and that person thanked you. Big deal. So what? Let’s not go throwing yourself a parade with “you’re welcome” when all you’ve done is spew a cliche to someone whose kids’ names you can’t even be bothered to remember and who already feels like shit. Just say “of course” or “let me know if you need anything while you’re out.” Or, better yet, don’t say anything at all and instead give one of those sad, sympathetic, closed lipped smiles and go on about your day.
Similarly, sending a generic text message wishing someone a happy birthday and then following up with “you’re welcome” after being thanked, is also a dick move. Henry’s birthday isn’t about you, Angela. You already wished him a happy birthday, so let’s knock it off with the electronic self-commendation. Or, maybe, if you’re really in the need of accolades, actually do something for Henry on his birthday that’s worthy of a genuine “thank you” so you can then provide a well-earned “you’re welcome” in return.
Finally, if you still insist on texting “you’re welcome,” for Christ’s sake, use the goddamn contraction so you don’t look like an even bigger asshole by spelling it wrong. Reading “your welcome” is almost worse than receiving the text itself.
As usual, Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night!
