Once again, my friends, it’s Festivus, that magical time of year when we’re encouraged to air our grievances and tell the world how we really feel. This year marks my fifth annual Festivus blog, one I spend nearly an entire year writing and refining for your reading pleasure.
In addition to this blog, for the first time, the Mr. Morgan You Know and I asked our friends and podcast contributors to share their own grievances in a special episode, “I Got A Lot of Problems With You People.” Note that one VERY important grievance I DO NOT include in this blog I DO address on the podcast, so be sure and give it a listen HERE.
And now, without further ado, my top five grievances of 2022.
1.Store Checkouts
To quote a much younger generation, I cannot even with checkouts these days. From self-checkouts to understaffed checkouts, I am so done with shopping for ANYTHING in-person in 2022.
When I originally jotted down this grievance sometime last spring, I was frustrated that, while standing in line at Walmart for approximately 20 minutes with a few items and a case of beer, the cashier, who wasn’t over 21, needed to wait for someone who was over 21 to check me out. This took another 10 minutes and I remember thinking, how have I spent more time in this line than I did shopping? Also, how, after 5 p.m. on a weekend is someone under 21 manning the checkout at Walmart? My monthly trip to Walmart for cleaning supplies is one of the many reasons I drink. Another reason is because I live in Indiana where, coincidentally, a cashier must also be over the age of 21 to scan alcohol. Now picture me shaking my fist angrily at the sky.
Ever since, my hatred for checkouts has escalated to include ALL checkouts because the entire process at every grocery or big-box store is pure torture. Most times, no matter how many lanes were constructed with the sole purpose of, you know, checking out customers, only three are open and the wait time is regularly a minimum of 15 minutes. Then, there are the 10 or so self-checkout lanes where one sad son-of-a-bitch is forced to deal with the countless mishaps of clueless customers attempting to perform the jobs that others were once trained AND paid to do. It’s insane, and I hate it, and I’m pretty sure this is how riots and looting break out, so grocery and big-box stores, please take note… and consider paying employees a living wage.
2.Makers of Women’s Concert Apparel
I. Love. Live. Music. I love the ambiance. I love the energy. I even love the smell. I also love to dance and, in the words of one of my best friends and favorite concert buddies, “I love to sing my favorite songs.” What’s more, I love purchasing hard-to-find merchandise in the form of posters, koozies, key chains, bandanas, and T-shirts, and I rarely have an issue with the cost. What I DO have a problem with, however, is the “women’s” apparel sold on behalf of artists at these same concerts because what vendors are hawking as a regularly sized “woman’s T-shirt” these days is complete and total bullshit.
For reference, I’m a solid medium and I’m also pretty satisfied with the way I look (which, by the way, is COMPLETELY OK even if you’re a size 10; the size I’ve worn for the better part of my adult life). But when it comes to concert merchandise, while I’m a small or medium men’s apparel, I’m suddenly an XL or XXL in women’s. What’s that about? And why, at the concert merch line checkout, do I find myself second guessing my size, my happiness, and my life’s choices based solely on the size and fit of a cute T-shirt? I felt totally fine about my body before holding up a women’s medium (which I was convinced was a child’s extra small), yet here I am, a grown ass woman, developing a body image complex at a concert I (likely and willingly) already paid too much to attend in the first place.
I mean, who in God’s name determines the size and fit of what these manufacturers deem to be women’s clothing? Let me guess: is it a MAN? Because no fucking way is a woman, let alone an entire gaggle of them, sitting in a boardroom, textile factory, or warehouse plotting how they can ruin another woman’s self esteem at a concert.
So please, size us correctly and accordingly from now on, fellas, ok? After all, women are likely the ones purchasing the tickets, making the travel arrangements, standing in line for the (also overpriced) drinks, and buying the damn merch! Give us a break already and let us enjoy our night without making us (mistakenly) think we need to lose 10 pounds.
3.Children’s Mullets
Over the summer I noticed a friend of Van’s who lives in our neighborhood peddling his bicycle down the street with the sides of his head shaved and several stringy tendrils of hair flowing limply past his thin shoulders. I gasped; actually gasped and thought, my God, is he ok? Are his parents ok? This child was at our house less than a month ago with perfectly normal hair playing chess with my son. What’s gone wrong between now and then in his very well-to-do family for him to turn to the Kentucky rainfall as a hairstyle? Should I do a wellness check?
As it turns out, this sweet child and his equally dear parents were perfectly fine and his mullet was no accident. Rather, it was a choice, an intentional choice, he, his parents, and countless others have consciously made this year in an effort to make adorable, intelligent, personable little boys look as skeezy as humanly possible.
Now I’m all for letting your freak flag fly, but there’s a fine line between expression and ugly, and the mullet falls firmly on the side of ugly. And while adults have every right to choose to hold a party in the back, when they impart that same horrendous taste on their children, they’ve taken things a step too far and should know I’m judging the entire family based on this one decision alone.
The mullet is a look neither a parent nor their child will look back upon fondly. It’s not funny, it’s not cute, and it’s certainly not a way for any successful adult who makes well over six figures to prove they’re fun and down to earth. Also, for the love of God, think about the grandparents! You think they want a school picture of their grandchild and his Camaro cut posted on the side of their refrigerator? I think not. So either trim it altogether or trim none of it at all. No child should be made to commit to two hairstyles or be judged (yes, unfairly) by adults like me.
4.The Lifespan of Appliances
Our beloved home, where we have lived for almost 12 years, came with a washer and dryer that were made sometime in the very early 1990s. Approximately three years after moving in, the washing machine stopped working and I called a repairman. After dutifully working on the machine for about a half hour he fixed it and told me, with an impassioned plea only a dedicated midwestern repairman can muster, “Do not EVER replace this washer until you absolutely have to. Promise me.” Then, true to the midwestern repairman-client relationship, we swore a blood oath, and life went on.
Sadly, earlier this year, that same machine finally washed its last load and was deemed unfixable, so we purchased a new one that has, in less than 11 months, failed to work (and for several bullshit Whirlpool-related reasons, cannot be entirely replaced) a minimum of 30 times.
Now I understand that not all modern-day machines can be built like our washer or the Ford Model T, but when I’m spending close to $1,000 on anything, I expect it to work for at least two to three years without fail. This, I’ve learned, is NOT the same expectation shared among manufacturers who are betting on a life-cycle of three to six months for any four-figure purchase.
There are a lot of things I say now that I’m 40 that I never would have said earlier in life, and among them is, “They sure don’t make them like they used to” BECAUSE THEY DON’T! Needless to say, I and the midwestern repairmen who can’t even attempt to remedy these shoddy pieces of shit appliances, are none too pleased. It’s also worth mentioning that our 30-year old dryer still works just fine.
5.Midlife
You know what people fail to mention about what you assume will be the middle of your life? Your complete and total lack of freedom. Because when you reach midlife, you will never, not once, wake up one morning and think, “What do I want to do today?” Instead, for the entirety of your 30s and 40s, you will wake up every morning and think, “What do I have to do today?” “What must I get done?” It totally sucks. I mean, of course it’s still better than the alternative (which is also something I and EVERY person over the age of 40 says on a regular basis), but it’s still not ideal.
Just once, one goddamn day in this gray area of midlife, what I wouldn’t give to open my eyes and have NOTHING to do. No laundry. No cleaning. No working. No parenting. No dropping off or picking up. No caring. No nothing. And with that said, I can also admit with full confidence that IF this were to happen, I’d probably spend the day napping and then beating myself up later for not making the most of it, which is why it’s not the lack of freedom I’m bitching about, it’s just midlife in general… and it still, and without question, most definitely beats the alternative.
Now before I go, I’d simply like to add that while it may be easy for me, a person who has never lived a day with depression and who also loves her therapist, to make laughable and grandiose statements about the perils of midlife, I also understand that this same midlife exhaustion impacts others in much different and often traumatizing ways. For far too many, life can be debilitating, anguishing, and downright unbearable.
Rod and I have lost far too many friends, including a longtime friend just this year, to suicide, which is why I implore everyone reading this blog to not only giggle at my grievances, but to check on those who matter most to you and to keep yourselves top-of-mind, too. For support, please text 741741. A crisis worker will text you back and continue to text with you for as long as you need. Or, call 988 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to reach the suicide and crisis lifeline. Finally, if you need to vent or a space to simply air your own grievances, please know you’re always welcome here.
