Peeves

 

A bunch of minor peeves have been collecting on my electronic desk. They are not important in the general scheme of things, but maybe you’ve encountered a similar situation and will use my illumination of the subject as an opportunity for a hearty, expiating "Yeah!"

First, Sprint is coming out with television service for cellphones. The picture is reported as kinda jerky, but the technology will likely no doubt improve, and rapidly. The next step is probably the subcutaneous installation of a small chip that feeds sights and sounds to the mind’s eye. In the meantime, will they let people watch their phone while driving? Or walking?

Second, I would have thought by now that the people who make toilets would have figured out some basic facts, but more than one designer of the porcelain throne doesn’t leave enough room between the client and the water level. Surely one should be able to complete one’s toilette with a dry hand, and also avoid inundation when the flushing function is invoked.

Third, what ever happened to dignity? So many people these days seem enamored with exposure, but some instances are just plain bizarre. As in the other day when I walked along the sidewalk by an office building in Sacramento and saw that behind three large adjoining windows were three dental patients, supine, under the drill, right in plain view. Why would anyone want to expose themselves under such conditions?

Fourth, my friend Ann and I went to a new restaurant at five o’clock. I had called; that’s when they opened. It’s not that we were seniors seeking an early-bird bargain. Rather, we were interested in a glass of wine and something light. What’s the soup? Not ready yet, the smiling waitress said; maybe around six-thirty. Oh, um, well, could we have some bread with our salads? Nuh-uh, they don’t make the bread until six.

Fifth, at a fancy restaurant in Sacramento, I stood at the hostess podium behind a couple of women waiting to be seated while the hostess spoke on the phone. Occasionally she turned pages in the reservations book, but she never wrote anything down. Talk, talk, talk but no writing. Finally a manager-type came over, thumbed through the book, looked at those of us in line apologetically and announced that the hostess would be right with us.

And finally, some people wear their ignorance like a badge of honor. Especially select youth. I saw one such offender of the public aesthetic sporting a Mohawk haircut, talking loudly to a friend, and flailing his arms spasmodically. I was sure that if he were fifty yards away and I shouted "Hey, stupid!" he would have turned on a dime to answer the call.

And that’s SetonnoteS...I’m Tony Seton.

 

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