Friday, 3 June 2016

The Thing About Frustrations

At the youthful age of eighteen and leaving the farm.....I probably had a pretty high threshold on things frustrating me.  There really wasn't much at boot-camp that got me frustrated.  Getting up at 5AM wasn't a bad deal.  The breakfast offered was acceptable.  The heat was bad but I'd grown up in Alabama.  The humidity was miserable, but acceptable.

Somewhere along age twenty, I'd say I probably had three frustrations that might occur.  I didn't have much patience for a room-mate who might arrive back at the room at 3AM and want to describe his evening in Frankfurt.  I didn't have much patience with cleaning up a barracks area on a Monday after a big weekend party.  And I didn't have much patience for Air Force safety movies which we had to watch every three or four months at some commander's call.

By age twenty-five, I'd added twenty-odd frustrations to the list.  I hated to work with tar.  I was often frustrated with Louisiana heat in a almost non-air-conditioned barracks.  I was frustrated with marginal instructors that the Louisiana Tech University folks brought out for our evening classes.  I was frustrated with spring storms that dumped three inches of water in an hour.  I was frustrated with a small Chrysler car that I really should have done more research upon.

By age thirty-five....my frustrations list had gotten up to around 150 things.  Sitting in a cramped seat for eight hours to cross the Atlantic was easily near the top.  Having some dimwit Air Force doctor ask me for the 99th time if I smoked was getting on my nerves (no, I never smoked).  Standing there at the Air Force dentist office and having them give me a blood pressure check....just got me more upset because I hated going to the dentist.  And being at some American party or function where crappy American-made beer was the only beer offered....really got me going.

By 2010, and moving to Arlington.....I came to add another fifty or sixty frustrations  to my list.  Really bad incompetency by government employees always got me going.  Listening to some idiot government guy explain a 44-page regulation which never made sense.....got me going..  Having a security guy ask me for a full-detailed listing of what I did on some two-week vacation to Germany.....was another frustrating thing.

Today.....I probably have around 1,500 items on my frustration list.  Being in Germany....I have some fortunate luck in that Germans have a way of doing things, and repeat this successful process over and over.  I can be assured that the bus will run on time....that the coffee at the bakery is four-star coffee....and that there is no funny music at the train station that gets on your nerves.   But the 1,500 frustrations still remain there.

Yes, I really can't stand eating Asian food....it's just too greasy for me.  Yes, I do hate most hard liquors without a cube of ice in the glass.  Yes, I can't stand flights that take more than four hours.  Yes, I do hate fraudulent reporters who pretend they are telling an accurate story when I can tell it's slanted.  Yes, I do dislike eating at McDonalds and Burger King because the quality of burger has slipped 100-percent over the past twenty years.  Yes, I do have frustrations over driving a car into a crowded parking garage.  Yes, I do have frustrations with anyone who is pumping up 500-percent on their religion or enthusiasm for it.  Yes, I do have frustration of sitting there and watching a Larry King interview, or listening to a Rush Limbaugh show.  Yes, I do hate walking into a toilet stall and finding there's no toilet paper left there.  Yes, I do hate eating at a restaurant where the salad is served and it's salad sauce in a plastic bottle handed to you to dab upon the salad.

This week, I kinda added another frustration.....I really can't sit for three minutes and listen to some idiot explain the Zoo-shooting episode over that silver-haired guerrilla.  I'm sorry for the guerrilla but on some scale of significance....it's like a three on a scale of one to a hundred.  Maybe if some guy had jumped down into the pit and stood between the shooter and the guerrilla....trying to take a round for the guerrilla, or the some old lady had pulled out six bananas and just started luring the guerrilla away from the kid.....maybe it'd be worth telling the story for the 112th time.

I'm getting older and less patient with people and society.  It does make me wonder how I'll be in twenty-odd years.