When someone asks me how my life is going, I say, “I can’t complain.”
No, really, I can’t complain. But I still have some small pet peeves I am working on.
I have actually overcome many of my pet peeves through white-knuckling intense prayer. But there are a few remaining.
My pastor once said that whenever someone cuts him off in traffic or rides his bumper down Scotts Valley Drive, it helps him to think, “OK, maybe they are on their way to the hospital, because they have a loved one who is dying.” And then he blesses their journey.
This thought has helped me out many times when I am being abused on the Mount Hermon expressway, except when I see the person turn in ahead of me at Peet’s coffeehouse. Then I think: Dying, my arse! OK, I have a lot of work to do.
Anyway, there are a couple more I am dealing with.
The first is standing in line at the grocery store waiting for the person ahead of me to finish getting checked out, when all of a sudden they realize they forgot to get their beloved vanilla ice cream. They leave the line and run to the back of the store and disappear for what seems like an eternity, while the poor grocery clerk just stands there befuddled, looking forlornly at the rest of us. What’s up with this?
I have decided that the next time this happens, I am going to protest loudly and not let the person leave the line. I will wrestle them to the ground and tell them that this is the height of rudeness and that they need to check out and come back at the end of the line just like the rest of us on this planet — as I am being hauled off to jail.
Of course it will probably be a sweet little old lady, and then, in that case, I will run and get the ice cream for her, befuddling everyone else in line.
The last one is the new maze in K-mart. Last night, I must have walked by the same George Foreman grill five times in a row. What gives? I kept coming to corners and dead ends and turnarounds. At one point, I panicked, because the face of, well, I swear it was one of the Charlie’s Angels was staring back at me. I think I might have been having a ’70s flashback. All I know is that I could not get out of housewares. It was like I was stuck in a “Twilight Zone” episode. I then stumbled over to and got lost in the window curtains and bedding aisle.
Around and around I went, until dizzily I grabbed hold of a lady with a shopping cart and asked her to escort me out of there. Thank God she wasn’t a mannequin come to life.
No kidding, K-mart, if there was a fire, how does one get out? I want straight rows, where I can see the exits and an end to shopping!
Michael Larson is a 14-year resident of Felton and an aspiring comedy writer. He lives with his dog Blue. Contact him at [email protected].

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