It’s Time to Bitch

January 3 hit like a freight train at my work thanks to COVID and the American obsession with individualism. I’m sure I will be thankful in another post, but today is not that day. For your amusement, here is a collection of random things that are currently irritating the hell out of me.

Spam a Lot

I recently got this spam text: “Hello Sandra, This is Kim. If I could help you get rid of your Eldorado with no upfront fees, would that be of interest to you? STOP to end.” I don’t even know where to start with this. Isn’t that some kind of old luxury car? Why does Kim think I have one? Was Kim even alive when Eldorados were made? I know I’m out of most of society’s loops, but an Eldorado? I mean I’ve gotten used to not really knowing the current musicians and actors, but am I now getting so old, the spam doesn’t even make sense? Is that where I am right now? How did I even get on Kim’s list? I own a 2007 Corolla, which is the exact opposite of a luxury car, although it is old. Now I’m starting to get why old people get sucked into scams. First they confuse you with some weird shit about Eldorados, and then when you get mad and try to ask questions and yell at them, the next thing you know, you’ve handed over your social security number and your bank account is empty. What ever happened to trying to dupe me into getting rid of my timeshare? Or an ugly house? You know, stuff people legit want to get rid. Or tell me I won an Apple watch, or hell a radio. Hey, Kim, in the words of one of my favorite comedians, Bob Marley from Maine, “Suck it hahd.”

Credit Report Part 1

Kim’s irritating text reminded me of my credit report. My bank said that there was some kind of information breach, and while nothing bad had happened and my direct information wasn’t involved, they sent me a new card to be sure. Fine, I had to spend an afternoon, updating all the websites where I use the card and my passwords. They also suggested I check my credit report. So I dutifully download it from 2 of the 3 companies. The third asked me a question I must have answered incorrectly and so now I have to mail in a form to get it. Look, I love snail mail more than anyone, but mail in a form? I’m sure that won’t get lost or put in a forgotten pile while every company experiences staff shortage. And on top of it, some of those questions they asked me to verify my identity were weird. One said I had recently got a loan and wanted me to pick from which company. I haven’t gotten a loan in more than 10 years, so I clicked “none of the above.” But then I started to worry that maybe they have the wrong information. Or was it a trick question? People, I am hanging on by a thread here, why is this shit so complicated?

Credit Report Part 2

But that’s not the worse of it. One of the reports looked fine. The second one listed the loan that was paid and closed, but then listed it again, only this one doesn’t have a closed date. Sooooooooo, what the hell is that all about? I’m just trying to make sure some guy named Tiny isn’t using my name, social security number, and ATM card to live the good life in Puerta Villarta, and now I’m the bad guy and have to figure out how to fix their mistake? The report unhelpfully says to contact the lender to get it fixed. That loan was from Bank of America and the main thing I learned from that loan was to avoid contacting them at all costs. They have perfected gaslighting, hell they may have even invented it. With that loan, I’d allegedly get the issue straightened out after a 30 minute phone call, only to have the same problem pop up again. I called again, and the new person would claim there was no documentation even though the previous rep, we’ll call him “Parker,” assured me he was documenting everything. This happened 4 times, until finally, at my insistence that yes, Parker, Brody, and Bexley, had all claimed to document the problem, the new rep scrolled down the screen and saw the previous documentation. “Oh, I see it now.” I’d rather let Tiny have a go at my anemic bank account.

Just, No

Next on the list is Dude Wipes. I kid you not, that is the name of this product. But the name is not the irritating part. The name actually makes me chuckle. To me, it’s in the same vein as “OK, Boomer.” OK Millenials/Gen Z, have your hyper customized products with silly names if that floats your boat. I went on Amazon to buy them for a person in my household who is not me, and like 5,000 photos of Dude Wipes popped up. I admit my brain is pandemically compromised at this point, and my eyes glazed over. But my compromised brain reasoned that they must just be different quantities or ways of buying, so I clicked on a random 6-pack and started to check out. Astonishingly, some part of my brain is still doing OK, because I recalled that I keep buying the slightly wrong things — the chocolate biscuit cookies instead of the cinnamon, a 2 liter bottle of seltzer, when I meant to buy a 1 liter bottle. So I decided to double check the number of packs in my cart, and that’s when I saw “mint chill.” For a second I was confused. Did I accidentally buy a cloth mouth wash or toothpaste? What the actual hell is this thing? But no, it’s a product to wipe your butt. Why on earth do you want mint chill on your ass? What in holy hell is happening to us as a people? I double checked the ones in my house and saw they are unscented. OK, so my Gen Z isn’t completely bonkers. I returned to my cart, deleted the offending Dude Wipes, and got the right kind. But the sad reality is that you can’t unsee mint chill for your ass. You just can’t. And let’s all have a moment of silence for the humble and useful mint plant. This is what we have brought you to, my dear mentha piperita, and I am deeply sorry.

I wish you all a week of fewer irritating things and for the love of all things good and holy, please use your mint wisely.

Image credit: Moon Pig greeting cards.


  1. I suddenly feel weird about my toothpaste. There is clearly no level of crazy this society won’t descend to, to make money or confuse people into spending it. I go back to my work confident that Howard Jones, at least, will not hurt me.

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