Let's get a few things of my chest, shall we?

Here are just some random things that are driving me bazoo:

Does it really take 8 people to pick out a bottle of pancake syrup? Do you all need to be closely involved in this decision and in doing so take up three aisles in the grocery store? For 15 minutes?

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We're in North America people. We drive on the right side. We also walk on the right side. This applies to whatever/wherever you're doing it, be it an escalator, a sidewalk, a platform, or a hallway. If there is no one coming in the opposite direction, feel free to walk in zigzags if your heart so desires, but if you aren't alone, get the hell over the right side now!

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When I'm struggling to open the door while holding my many grocery bags, I'm actually not doing it so that you can ram into me and knock me off balance just to make it through first and then let the door slam in my face.

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Most city sidewalks are about wide enough to fit two, maybe three people abreast. It's delightful that you have a litter of children, but I don't enjoy having to all but climb onto newspaper boxes so that you can pass by whenever you'd like. They have strollers for two (or more) children that don't take up 5 feet of space across, and instead only take up the space of one person, so that other people can use streets too. Look into it.

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What the hell is up the horrendous state of the streets and sidewalks in this city? They are a messy combination of broken cobblestones, uneven pavement, slanty sidewalks, cracks and jagged gravel. Are you trying to make me wear ugly and "practical" shoes? Or is it me with a broken ankle, torn acl and smashed in teeth you are after?

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Lady, despite what you may think, I am actually allowed to have my purse stand out 2 inches from my shoulder. See, we have this concept of there being a tiny amount of personal space that surrounds a person, a space which should not ever be entered, unless you have been given explicit permission or are performing life saving cpr. So if you can't find a way around it, despite the four feet of space between me and that display of condiments, then you shouldn't leave your house. Ever.

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And finally, to the jackhole who buzzed me in the hopes of getting into the building at 5:42 this morning, 40 minutes after I finally fell asleep, I hope you get the plague.

There. Now I feel better.