Main Street

I am always astonished when someone tells me how mellow I am, or
soft-spoken, or calm. How can they miss the signs?
I’m typically on the verge of a meltdown. I’m the most irritable
person I know. For most of my waking hours I’m vexed, irritated,
annoyed, infuriated, exasperated, aggravated, bothered, maddened,
displeased, provoked, riled, incensed, fed up, put out and
peeved.
Do you want to know why?
Retail clerks get me peeved. We start with a perfectly charming
interaction, since I’m absolutely OK with the mundane exchanges
that glue society together. I don’t get cheesed off by the “Did you
find what you were looking for?” question, although I have tried
saying “No” and been rewarded with the sort of look reserved for
those who mutter to themselves in the produce section.
At the checkout counter my stuff gets bagged, my damage is
tallied, and I hand over enough currency to cover the total. Then I
get peeved. The latest style is to avoid actual contact with a
customer’s skin, so my bills are arranged in a pile, my receipt is
laid on top, then the coin is stacked on the receipt, resulting in
a highly inconvenient and unwieldy mess. I have to somehow slide
the coins into my pocket, tuck the receipt into a compartment in my
wallet, then sort out the bills, all while the next customer shoots
me annoyed looks (They are peeved at me!). Once upon a time your
change was counted back to you in a manner that allowed you to
manage it. Now, likely due to the influence of an efficiency
expert, the goal of the clerk is to hand you a pile and move onto
the next customer. Thoroughly annoying.
Bicyclists get me peeved. For 20 years, on and off, I’ve battled
any government agency that tries to regulate or eliminate the
rights of bicyclists. I don’t ride much anymore, but I’m a
to-the-bone cycling advocate. My reward? When I try and get around
a cyclist in my car, the idea of sharing the road only goes one
way. This week I was driving up Powell Avenue behind two cyclists
who were undoubtedly heading for a lovely Fitch Mountain excursion.
They had their well-toned hind ends out in the middle of the lane
and when I tooted my horn from at least 100 feet behind them to
remind them to “single up” and share Powell with me, I was granted
two backward glances and two middle fingers.
Motorists get me peeved. Since Highway 101 has been continually
under construction, I’ve observed that everyone has lost their
manners, especially about passing. Since when did the right lane
become the passing lane? I’m not a leadfoot but I’m not a laggard
either. Still, it’s common for people to use the right lane to get
around me. I’m in the left or middle lane, doing my usual 68 miles
an hour, and someone doing 80-plus sails around me on the right.
What happened to tailgating someone and forcing them to yield? Why
the slalom technique? So aggravating!
Online news outlets get me peeved when they pretend to be what
they’re not. I appreciate the massive online content aggregators
like the Huffington Post, because they understand what they are.
What really hacks me off are the so-called “hyperlocal” websites
that rip off real news and shoot from the hip instead of, you know,
“reporting” news. There’s a local example. I don’t want to say its
name, so I’ll call it Scratch. Ironically funded by one of the true
dinosaurs of the Internet, Scratch is pretending to be a news
source and dragging down the industry.
Scratch recently published an inaccurate and misleading story
about one of my favorite projects, the Construction And
Sustainability Academy (CASA) at Healdsburg High School. In case
you’re wondering, CASA is doing just fine. Two dozen students are
learning about green building, getting trained on power tool use,
and building a couple of very cool garden sheds that we intend to
display in the Twilight Parade in May.
Scratch ignored all that and wrote a whole story about an
unsubstantiated rumor, then only posted a new story when I raised
hell with them. The original story was a disservice to the students
who are working so hard in the class, and to the community
volunteers and donors who helped make it happen.
Ray Holley says “A Pox on Scratch!” He can be reached at
ra*******@gm***.com.