The Bob Pageant & Pet Peeves
The Bob Pageant
Many things happen in spring. Birds chirp. Flowers bloom. Shorts and tank tops come out. I could go on and on, but I think you get the general idea. I’ll just cut to the chase now.
Spring also is about pageants.
Just about every weekend, somebody is holding a pageant somewhere.
My wife, Mary, won the Mrs. Minnesota-America pageant in the spring of 1992, and I have judged several pageants, also in spring.
I’m thinking about putting together a pageant of my own.
The Bob Pageant.
It would be exclusive and, unlike other pageants, open to men and women.
Every contestant would have to be named Bob or Bobbi.
There would be a swimsuit competition that would include bobbing for apples.
Every contestant would have to wear bobby sox on their feet and bobby pins in their hair, which, of course, would be styled in a bob.
There would be a talent portion where every contestant would have to sing two songs: “When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin’ Along” and that old Desi Arnaz favorite “Bobaloo.”
When contestants were on stage, there would be no slow and showy pageant walk. They would have to bob and weave.
We’d hold it in Zimbabwe, and get whoever runs the country to draw up a proclamation that changes the spelling to Zimbobwe for the night of the pageant.
We’d get Bob Dylan, Bob Seger, Bob Barker, Bobby Knight and a few other well-known Bobs to judge.
Bob Saget would be the host.
Among the prizes would be a trip to London to meet a bobby, and a lifetime pass to eat every day at Bob Evans restaurants.
Once somebody starts up the BOB network to televise it, the Bob Pageant will be good to go.
(Posted March 30, 2015)
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I’m driving my car slightly above the speed limit. It’s night time. I look in my rear-view mirror. Coming up on me at bat-out-of-hell speed is another vehicle.
Suddenly, this vehicle is mere feet from my back bumper, with its bright lights on. It stays there, crawling up my rear end, for several miles. There was no real shoulder on the road, no place for me to go. I slow down, hoping the vehicle will pass.
Nope. It continues to ride my rear.
Finally, I turned on the road that takes me home. The vehicle behind me raced ahead to ride the bumper of the car that was in front of me.
I hate anyone or anything that crawls up my rear end, and people who do it with their vehicles represent one of my all-time greatest pet peeves.
I have others. Nobody has just one pet peeve.
Here’s another one: People with coupons at the checkout line. There should be a special line for people with coupons. I always wind up behind somebody who counts out their coupons one at a time, slow and deliberate, like they are hundred dollar bills. And these people never have just one or two coupons. There are dozens of them.
Even worse than the coupon people are the people who write checks at the checkout line and don’t pull their checkbook out of their purse or pocket until every item has been rung up. Then they take their sweet time, as if they are studying an important document. Why can’t they have the check written out with everything except the final amount?
I’d like to conk these people in the head with a can of peas. But then it would take even longer for them to write the check because they’d be shaking off the cobwebs from being hit in the head with a can of peas. And by then I’d probably be in the back of a squad car.
Worse than the coupon people and the checkbook people are the people with coupons and checkbooks.
During interviews for my job as a columnist for the Pioneer Press, I’ve asked plenty of athletes about their pet peeves. One I heard a lot was they hated dining with someone who ate with their mouths open.
That doesn’t bother me.
These things do:
Vehicles parked over the line in parking spaces. It tells you a lot about the people who parked the car, like how self-centered they are.
People who don’t say “Excuse me” when they bang into you.
People who don’t say “Thank you” when you hold open a door for them, behaving as if they’re royalty and it’s beneath them to acknowledge common folk.
Nine-year-old boys who don’t pick up the toilet seat and have lousy aim. (Yes, I have one of those.)
People who call and don’t leave a message. (I’m guilty of that, but it seems worse when somebody does it to me.)
People who blow past you in their vehicle and give you the finger for driving too slow, even when you’re going the speed limit. (Given the choice, though, I’ll take them over the people who ride your back bumper.)
People who rattle off a list of pet peeves but don’t ask what your biggest pet peeves are.
So, I’ll ask. What are your biggest pet peeves?
Here are some responses from folks who answered that question:
People that say they are going to do something and never follow through. Lazy ass people piss me off.
People who type, “Your so stupid.” Yeah, and “you’re” a freaking dictionary.
Slow drivers in left lane; drivers that stop in the on-ramp merge lane; texting drivers.
People walking down the street on their cell phones and expect that they are the most important person walking and everyone else should just get out of their way.
People who say and write the word “seen” incorrectly in a sentence. ” I seen that”. Instead of “I have seen that” or ” I saw that.”
People that say “you know” when talking to you.
People talking loudly on their cell phones in a restaurant.
All the carry-on items people bring on the plane – which holds up the loading/unloading process.
Gawkers. There is no need to stretch your neck and slowdown to watch a cop have some drunk perform stupid human tricks on the other side of the road, or tend to a accident. Eyes forward, let’s go.
Getting routed to a customer service rep, at T-mobile, in the Phillipines, and they answer from a script for every question you have. My blood boils!!!
.People who are always late.
People that grab a grocery cart and stop 5 feet into the door to look at the weekly add!!! We can’t get around you!!
(Posted March 29, 2015)