Rant

Gas prices.

Timid drivers . . . drivers who do not use their turn signals.

Insurance companies.

People heading to the mountains pulling camping trailers or fifth-wheels or boats or a combination of both . . . and, throw in a towing a car on the back of a recreational vehicle.

People driving the wrong way in parking lots.

Doctors who go, “Hmmmm” while doing an examine . . . and then tell you that you might want to go see a specialist without telling you what the “hmmmmm” meant.

Receptionists who call to schedule a colonoscopy that you asked to be schedule a year ago . . . just a reminder they said.

Tax audits.

People in general.

That is just my list to begin with . . . the start of my rant.  Years ago I wrote a children’s story about a kangaroo who stuffed all of her emotions in her pocket.  The pocket kept getting bigger and bigger as she kept stuffing more and more emotions in it.  Eventually, like a balloon that can hold no more air, her pocket expanded until it exploded.  The moral of the story, of course, was that even a kangaroo needs to let off a little steam once in a while to avoid blowing up . . . needs to have a rant every now and then.  Psychologically . . . and, probably spiritually . . . this is a good idea.  Let off a little steam before the kettle explodes.  Thus, the start of the list.

This is my rant.  It was one of those sorts of days.  I was hurrying to get all my work done before taking a week of vacation near Yellowstone National Park . . . no pressure there!  Heck, I was only gone the first two days of work attending meeting with state agencies . . . only two days behind where I would usually be.  Then add into that the fact that I had a year-end report to get done for the state.  Nope, no pressure there.  Then the state wanted to do an audit of my business expenses . . . an audit that the agent explained was the luck of the draw . . . damn, that Keener luck.  Still . . . no pressure.  I just stuffed all that pressure way down deep where the sun don’t shine.

It was working well until I had to run a few errands in the big city before heading home and starting my vacation.  Then I got a lousy haircut.  Yeah, yeah, I know . . . the difference between a good haircut and a bad one is two weeks.  But a bad haircut on a balding man is a bad haircut that time cannot heal or save.  Homer Simpson and I have more than a rant in common . . . it ain’t pretty.  The dogs wouldn’t quick growling at me for an hour!

From the haircut it was off to the eye glass place to make sure my order was still in place after the snafu with the insurance company . . . which it was.  They even had my new lenses and I did not have the frames they went it . . . so, another trip into the big city!  I don’t understand insurance companies.  I pay extremely good money . . . and, a lot of it . . . to be insured only to find out that there are more hoops (some flaming) that have to be jumped through before they are going to pay anything.  I figured that if I just pocketed the money, put it into the bank, I would have more than enough to cover my health care costs and still have money in the bank without having to jump through any hoops.  If they had just done what they were supposed to do in the first place this errand would never had to happen.

From there I started to head home, but first I had to get onto the street.  Got behind a timid driving that would only pull out into traffic if there actually was no traffic . . . so we sat there . . . waiting . . . the blood pressure rising . . . and my hands twitching to use sign language.  Then finally it happened . . . the slow poke pulled out.  I was next.  I started to pull out when suddenly a car . . . without using a turn signal and crossing two lanes . . . turned in front of me.  I slammed on the brakes.  The lady behind bumped into my rear bumper . . . the rear bumper of my new car . . . only a week old.  To say the least it was not the Lord’s Prayer that I recited at that moment . . . I am not sure the Lord even wanted to hear what I had to say.  Luckily there was no damage to my car . . . the lady was nice and admitted that her foot slipped out of her flip-flops and off of the brake.  Flip-flops!  Flip-flops!  Ask my children my opinion of FLIP-FLOPS . . . a definite no no when driving. 

Next stop was Wally’s World to pick up a few things the wife wanted.  But, before I could get what the wife wanted, I had to swerve to avoid a lady driving the wrong way down the lane in the parking lot.  I had no problem with getting a head of Romaine lettuce.  I had no problem getting a loaf of crusty bread.  I wasn’t too thrilled with picking up the feminine hygiene thingies . . . what male is?  No greater love hath a husband than to go to the local supermarket to pick up feminine hygiene stuff for his wife.  Thank God that I did not need assistance.  After all that I picked up something I wanted . . . no, needed . . . a six pack of beer.

Now all I had to do is to get home.  Simple enough except for the tourists heading for Yellowstone National Park driving their recreational vehicles, their truck hauling fifth wheels and campers . . . people heading to the lake pulling trailers . . . people driving a combination of both or all of them.  Rubber necking at twenty miles under the speed limit.  People not from Montana . . . lots of Wyoming drivers.  Needless to say it was quite frustrating . . . I thought about having a beer, but common sense and my luck said that was a pretty stupid thought.  Patience, I kept telling myself . . . while all the time there was a voice deep inside of me urging me to flip into the road rage fiend using a lot of unpleasant sign language with a running commentary . . . but, I remained patient.

Add to all of this the other adventures of the week.  The two-and-a-half days at the state capital attending meetings that took me away from work for two days.  A visit with the state auditor who looked like he probably shaved about once a month and was still wet behind the ears . . . who enjoyed watching me squirm.  The visit to the eye doctor who kept saying “Hmmm” and then referring me to a specialist without any explanation as to why outside of something doesn’t look right.  Then to have the receptionist who was supposed to schedule a colonoscopy a year ago call to remind me to schedule one . . . because I said I would.  A year ago I was ready to have the inner reaches of my body explored through the back door of my body . . . but now, I am not too sure.  Especially since I have to go see a specialist.  I told the wife I would sit on it for a while.

Rant.  Rave.  Whine.  Lament.  Complain.  Moan and groan.  Whatever you want to call it . . . well, it came out . . . and, now you are getting it.  Throw in there the constantly rising prices of gas . . . which we are told there is an abundance of . . . just a bunch of greedy people wanting to make even more on the back of us poor saps wanting to have a nice vacation.  People not using turn signals.  It has been building up for a while . . .

. . . and, it sure felt good to let it out. Rant, rant, rant!

It feels good to let it all out.  Yet, at the same time, ranting is just ranting.  A counselor or psychologist or even someone we know well will ask us: What you going to do about it?  Being of a calmer mind I have come up with some solutions:

1.   Gas prices . . . lower them or start walking.  The big city is nearly a forty-five minute drive every morning . . . walking is out.  They need to lower the prices or I need to cover my license plate and do a gas and dash number.

2.   Drivers . . . well, sign language doesn’t make anyone except me feel better.  Yet, it does not change anything.  So, I recommend that the state remove timid drivers . . . fine those who do not use their turn signals . . . and, block all the roads leading into Montana so we residents do not have to deal with them.

3.   Doctors and their receptionists.  Well, teach doctors not to go “Hmmmm”, and receptionists to seize the moment when some poor sap like me is willing to have the inner reaches of his body examined in a very intrusive manner.

4.   Insurance and tax collectors . . . ban them all . . . or schedule them for a colonoscopy.

5.   People . . . well, not much you can do with them.  I guess I could always hide out in my house like a real introvert.  If people would only stay home I wouldn’t have such problems.

Yeah, those are just a few of the suggestions I have . . . and, that is all they are . . . suggestions.  The fact is, a little poop happens in everyone’s life . . . sometimes at a rate that overwhelms.  Being the introvert I am I have a tendency to shove all of this crap deep inside . . . hey, I have ample space to store it all.  So, that is what I do . . . I store it.  Actually, I stockpile it.  I stockpile it until it builds up to a point of near-explosion.  Then . . . watch out.  Someone besides me could get hurt.  But, man, it feels good.  It feels good to let off a little steam . . . to rant and rave . . . and, then be over with it.  At least that is the theory in practice.

I know that I am not the only one who has been steaming lately . . . I am sure some of you reading this are too.  Let it loose . . . set it free . . . go ahead and rant.  Ranting is good for the soul.  I feel better already.  I have had a beer, I quit looking in the mirror at my haircut, I am in my cave, and there is peace and quiet.  I am contemplating what the specialist is going to tell me, and thinking about being medically invaded since the insurance company say a colonoscopy is free as a preventive medical practice.  I am going on vacation . . . who has time for all of this! 

Stuff, stuff, stuff . . . I think I have plenty of room to bring on the new stuff!  Ranting is good for the soul . . . go ahead . . . rant.  You will feel better afterwards.  Give it a try, you might like it!