Grumpy — Who, Me?

I don’t know about you, but as I get older and older, I find that more and more things are making me grumpy. My long-suffering wife tells me that I am, in fact, officially becoming a Grumpy Old Man – an assertion I am resisting mightily because, as everyone around these parts surely knows, I am a Truly Nice, Always Pleasant and Always-Complimentary Old Man.

But whether I agree with my saintly wife or not, I recognize that my fuse is, indeed, getting shorter and shorter when it comes to certain things that crop up in everyday life. Among the things that are, seemingly, making me grumpier and grumpier are restaurant waiters and waitresses. It doesn’t matter which downtown eatery in our Central Coast burg we go to, the routine is always the same, and it’s beginning to drive me flat-out nuts. First, the waiter or waitress brings you a menu and asks if you’d like something to drink. Fine. But once you’ve given your request – be it water, a soft drink or a more adult beverage – the response from the person taking your order is, invariably, the word “perfect.”

Now, I’m not at all sure when “perfect” got into such common usage. But trust me, in any restaurant you go to these days, the response from those who serve you – no matter what you order – anything you order – is to tell you it’s “perfect.” And after you’ve made the “perfect” order of your beverage, whatever you order for food – anything you order – will receive the same verdict: “perfect.” Your server will not, I might add, use a full sentence, as in, “That’s perfect,” or “It’s perfect.” Nope. Just the single word: “perfect.”

Can anyone – anyone at all – please stop this? I really don’t need someone to tell me my food or drink order is anything other than – my food or drink order. I don’t need my order ranked, or rated, or judged. And saying “perfect” does not – repeat, does NOT – make me feel any better or superior for making such a sublime order. It just annoys me.

And since I’m railing at restaurants – what the heck. I’m on a roll now. Yes, there’s another thing about restaurants that’s making me grumpier and grumpier – the undeniable fact that, once being served our “perfect” food, we cannot go more than three minutes before the server strolls back over and asks, “How is everything?” And even if your answer is, “Just fine, thanks” – that doesn’t seem good enough or strong enough – because three minutes after THAT, the same server will magically reappear and ask, once more, “How is everything?” This will continue throughout your meal.

Here’s the deal – at least, here’s MY deal: If everything is NOT “okay,” I’ll be the first to report it to my server. If I don’t report it – stay the devil away from me, once you’ve served my food. Or – if you simply MUST ask, “How is everything?” after you’ve served me – then NEVER ASK AGAIN if my response is, “just fine.” Just assume everything is STILL FINE unless I tell you so. Why is that so hard to get across?

Okay, okay. I’ve been trashing restaurants, and I don’t want anyone to think that I’ve just “got it out” for them. No, I’ve “got it out” for others, too. For example, those fine young clerks at Home Depot or Lowe’s who – if I have several bags of fertilizer or potting soil in my basket – will ask me if I “need help” getting them to my car. My response is always – always – “No. Not yet.” I realize that they’re trying to be “nice” – but for me, at least, it would be nicer if they recognized that I’m not that old or fragile yet – and that if I were, I’d be the first to ask them for help. So lay off, Lowe’s and Home Depot clerks!

And don’t get me started about drivers who “honor me” by giving me the finger as they speed by my car – when I’m doing the speed limit in the right-hand lane. Yeah. That gives rise to grumpy feelings, all right. And maybe even a return “raised finger.”

And absolutely don’t get me going about cable TV “news.” Yes, I can do without those screechers and screamers and nut-cases whose sole purpose in life is to incite hatred against Your Political Party or My Political Party or Your Favorite Politician (if you have one) and My Favorite Politician (if I have one). I’ve “cut the cable” on cable TV news, and I feel much less grumpier about it. And as far as the politicians, themselves – pretty much all of them make me grumpy, especially when they say that some idea or other – no matter how outrageous – is “worthy of a conversation.” Really? That kind of response only tells me that the politician has no ideas – none whatsoever – and is afraid to voice his or her true opinion for fear of “losing votes.” Yep. That makes me grumpy.

Now, I don’t know whether my increasing grumpiness is simply because I’m growing older. Matter of fact, I think I may have been grumpy at times back when I was a young-ish man – though that was so long ago, my memory may be deceiving me. But I truly don’t want to be known as a Grumpy Old Man – and I especially don’t want that label just because I do get grumpy at certain things. That has nothing to do with age – at least, I hope not.

Nope. I don’t want to be known as a Grumpy Old Man. And I certainly don’t want to be known as a Dirty Old Man. No way. For the record – I shower every day, and with vigor.