7 Things That Seriously Piss Me Off About Airports

Due to my broke-ass-ed-ness I don’t really get to travel a lot. Which is pretty sad, but ultimately just means I don’t have to deal with people’s bullshit ruining my expensive vacation. Because:

1. Airport hygiene is like beckoning AIDS to ravage you

Apparently, knowing you’ll likely never meet any of your fellow bathroom visitors means you don’t have to give two shits about your…um..shits.

Whereas normal potty etiquette is conducive to toilet flushing, hand washing, and no farting goodness, airport toilet etiquette is more of an “anything goes” deal-io. In fact, chances are that 7 out of every 10 airport bathroom encounters will leave you so grossed out you won’t even need to “go” anymore.

I learned this at an early age.

One time when I was six I held my pee from when we left my grandma’s house in Rome to when we got to Mexico City. If that’s not the mark of a gifted child, I don’t know what is.

2. There is a serious lack of outlets

I see you there little Asian businessman, guarding the only outlet in a 3 terminal radius with your life. And you know what? Despite having no intention of paying for the airport wifi, I will more than likely steal your spot when you get up. Airports are no place for manners and this sister needs an outlet. 

3. Airport stores are highway robbery

The whole “go past this point and I’m going to have to frisk you again when you try to come in” thing airports are known for ends up acting as a great deterrent for people who enjoy shopping at competitive prices.

Unfortunately, since airports are exactly like a North Korean labor camp (except with food) they’re accustomed to locking you in and deciding everything for you. Even the fast food stores in airports have zero incentive to have a dollar menu because as it turns out, Mr. Fatshitz and his family of seven will still order sixteen burgers despite them costing $19.99 each.

For me, that means either forking over $4.99 for a soft pretzel or starving to death. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

4. Airport chairs are designed to make you grope your chair neighbor

I’m not sure if this is just me, but I absolutely loathe friendly bullshit interactions with strangers. Contrary to popular belief, just because we’re sharing the monumental experience of waiting for the same airplane does not mean we just became airplane buddies.  

Most of the time this can be avoided by reading an Avril Lavigne autobiography and picking at arm scabs, but when you’re sitting down at a gate, there’s only so much you can do.

This is applicable to pretty much anywhere there is a large group of people and a ridiculously small quantity of uncomfortable chairs but is especially tragic when you’re enduring the world’s longest layover. Why? Well because airplane seating is designed like this:

You don't realize how bad old people smell until their IBS acts up 12 inches from your face.

5. Screw you TSA, I’m not taking my damn flip flops off

I’m all for safety. In fact, nothing pleases me more than getting from point A to point B sans terrorist hijacking. Having said that I do think TSA might be going over the top with their safety measures.

One time, many moons ago, I had the audacity of going through the virtual cavity search machine (or whatever that thing is called) with my flip-flops on. My logic being “hey, if they can see my lady-tater, chances are they can also tell my flip flops aren’t concealing some Iranian made high grade explosive”. 

Unfortunately, I seriously overestimated TSAs intelligence and was greeted on the other side of the body scanner by a 300lb beluga whale-woman ready to frisk my rights away.

6. Unprepared Ursula and her family of 12

Traveling with children can be stressful. I don’t really know this from experience because I’m smarter than that, but I can just imagine how terribly shittastic it is.

Because I can somewhat understand how inconveniencing it is to have to drag little crying people everywhere you go, I’m usually nice enough to overlook the crying monsters.

But I draw the line at unprepared people traveling with children.

I’m sorry, did you just realize your child is incapable of going through security by itself? Could it perhaps be because the little one is TWO YEARS OLD?!

It’s not cute when you make your two-year-old carry their own luggage through security checks. In fact, not only is borderline child abuse, it’s a colossal waste of my time. Because you insisted little Timmy be a big boy and do everything himself, I’m now stuck at security for an extra 20 minutes.  Thanks ass.

7. Restrictions on my right to say stupid shit

Tell someone to look away because you’re changing clothes and what’s the first thing they do? Turn around and look directly at you.

Because that’s true for pretty much any person who has ever existed, I and many others like me, have a really hard time adhering to the whole ‘watch what you say’ airport protocol.

The more TSA reminds me that they have the right to kick me out of the airport if they catch me saying dumb shit, the higher the chance of phrases such as “I got the anthrax baby, it’s the BOMB!” coming out of my mouth. 

6 Things Nobody Tells You About Going to College

Let me begin with an excerpt from Dr. Douchebaggles McHappyturd, president of every university ever created, during his annual welcome note to the sea of incoming freshmen that he will likely never actually interact with:

“Hello, my name is Dr. Douchebaggles McHappyturd, and I would like to personally welcome you, the class of *FILL IN YEAR*, to this exciting new school year at *SCHOOL NAME*. Like in every movie ever created, you will attend ridiculous parties on yachts, make unbreakable life long friendships, and come out with a badass fulfilling job in the end.”

Except absolutely no part of that is true.

1. TAs are Nazis

For the most part, the purpose of a TA is to assist a professor with the shaping of young minds. In reality, all they end up doing is patrolling the aisles of the classroom to make sure you aren’t on Facebook. This marginal sense of importance often goes to their head and results in some of the most hilarious and embarrassing TA-students interactions of all time.

2. Getting sick is like plummeting into the bowels of hell

You will never realize how miserable and lonesome your existence is until the first time you get sick and are completely on your own. Aside from the crippling depression that will befall you from realizing how lonely you are, being sick and having to take care of yourself requires both money (off brand Tylenol costs HOW much?), and time (“Dr. Turdypants, I promise, I really am about to die this time. Please let me reschedule the test!”), two luxuries you really can’t afford.

3. Parties are never as good in real life as they are in film

I’m not sure what it is about Hollywood that manages to make everything seem substantially cooler than its reality counterpart, perhaps it’s the scripted dialog, perhaps the obligatory slutty-bitch-gets-pushed-in-the-pool-in-slow-motion action; regardless, it’s never like the movies.

What actually happens at a freshman college party:

8:00pm – Inform friends of potential party

10:00pm – Decide to go to party

11:00pm – Arrive at party

11:04pm – Be told the alcohol connection fell through, but “it’s cool”

11:06pm - Watch a game of beer pong with the 6 warm beers that are left

11:10pm – pronounce the party as “lame” and leave

4. No one actually redefines who they are

There seems to be some odd understanding of college as being the place where you can completely forget who you’ve been for the past 18 years and invent a persona unbeknownst to your family and friends. This usually works for about two weeks, until everyone realizes that you were a wiener in high school and will thus, likely continue treating you like said wiener.

5. Everyone will be better than you at everything

In high school you may have been hot shit. But go to college and you very quickly realize that people do some crazy shit to get to go to college for free. My freshman year I met someone who spent a year in Australia studying marsupials and caring for baby kangaroos. How the hell am I supposed to compete with this:

This is what a $25,000 a year scholarship looks like.

Moral of the story, stop pretending you’re a demigod. Because you’re not.

6. School spirit is a total bitch

The first week of freshman year is generally dedicated to indoctrinating you with the culture of the school, and this is just fine and dandy if the victim is a willing participant.

90% of the time, this isn’t the case.

Generally, this results in a giant group of pathetic looking freshman being forced to chant, scream, and awkwardly do full body motions against their will in the presence of total strangers. Because nothing says school unity like looking stupid in unison.  

5 Reasons Why Going to the Mall Hurts More Than Getting Shot in the Face

Let me begin this by saying that I have absolutely no problem with uninhibited capitalism or its presence in American malls. Not one bit. In fact, if I can condense my lavish and unsustainable money spending habits to a two-story building then I can pretty much die a happy woman.

And don’t get me wrong; I fully understand that a thorough mall excursion by definition requires dealing with the thousands of little turd people that frequent it every day. Its just part of the experience, like sandy feet at the beach or finding little bits of hair on you two weeks after a haircut.

However I do have a problem when the aforementioned people decide to co-opt my shopping extravaganza with their bullshit shenanigans. I’ve thought long and hard about how to handle this, and most of my solutions involve blunt trauma to the head, which is sadly not an option.

So to relinquish my fanatical hatred for the turd people I have decided to identify each group of social perpetrators, and pit them against each other in a classic hypothetical battle to the death a-la Hunger Games (except everyone dies in the end).

We begin by identifying the social douchewaffles:

1. Mall walkers – Harmless as individuals, a fortress of shape-ups yielding senior citizen power when traveling in packs. Though most mall walkers have the dignity to engage in their stampeding prior to sunrise, there remains the issue of the token ones who do choose to come out during daylight. I’m not sure what propels them to uncontrollably trample all that crosses their path, but they seem to inexplicably grow stronger with age.

2. The “cool” 8^th graders – Though not exclusive to the mall scene, the “cool” 8^th graders are the select group of turd buckets whose inept parents have deemed them suitable to roam public spaces unsupervised. This newfound freedom seems to unleash a leviathan like creature that, like the mall walkers, only seems to strengthen with numbers. These creatures can often be found in stores such as Hot Topic and Pac Sun, trying on clothes despite having no money, and generally destroying any semblance of peace in any given retail establishment.

3.  Scenesters and hipsters – This is just obvious. If you need to understand this, chances are you fall into this category. As a general rule though, this includes: anyone who wears sunglasses with a mustache already attached to them, looks like the losing end of an Audrey Hepburn-Kat Von D battle, or knows how to play any song by The Smiths on the ukulele.

4.  Sexually charged Sue and her boy toy Skip – One of my biggest pet peeves, this couple just cant seem to keep their paws off each other long enough for me to keep my Auntie Anne’s pretzel down. Often seen holding hands and making a wedding registry at Williams-Sonoma, their complete disregard for human life (outside their perfect duo) makes these criminals especially dangerous. When with children, beware of Sue and Skip, as their disregard for decency in public places will likely scar your children to no end. 

5. The sleazy kiosk salesman – Unlike the four previous categories who frequent malls across America for fun, the sleazy kiosk salesman exists solely to annoy. While I can often dismiss the tamer ones with a simple “no thanks”, the sleazy kiosk salesman simply won’t take “no thanks” for an answer. Instead, he often chooses to lure me into buying his hair straighteners by groping my head, assaulting a chunk of my hair, and insisting I sit through his demonstration. I’m not really sure why they think these fondling tactics will work, when all it really makes me want to do is punch them in the sack.

Now that we've identified the perpetrators, stay tuned for part two, where I pit them against each other in an epic death match (that will likely lead to them all dying).

How to Ruin Christmas: A Victim’s Story

Amongst my many admirable traits I am, for the most part, a congenital hoarder. Though I know it’s useless junk, it’s my useless junk and we just can’t seem to part ways. Besides, sorting out through piles of stuff you didn’t know you had is almost as good as dumpster diving at Goodwill.

During one of my many treasure hunts (courtesy of my laundry room turned storage shed) I came across one of these:

Now I may be a hoarder, but I cut no corners on serious affairs like cooking pasta.

And this reminded me of the plethora of other terrible Christmas presents I’ve been the reluctant recipient of over the years. Lo and behold, my Christmas story was born:

How to Ruin Christmas: A Victim’s Story

Fear grips my heart; I take the stairs three at a time forgetting my socks and other various articles of clothing necessary to sustain life in all thirty degrees of this glorious wintery morning.

And there it is.

There.

As I fight my way to the front of the room I’m forced to slam my baby brother into the living room couch because, like Steven Seagal in Under Siege 2, this freight train waits for no one.

Terror claws at my stomach as I launch myself at the dozens of little packages spread out under the tree. Weeks of patiently waiting have paid off.

Within seconds I rip off all three layers of the frosty the snowman wrapping paper and finally find it.

My heart skips a beat. It’s… It’s… PAJAMAS? 

My stomach plunges. I fight back tears, seeking immediate vengeance on that fat old man who obviously mixed up my presents with those of a middle-aged housewife.

What the hell is a cool, composed, and mature seven year old such as myself supposed to do with a set of CARE BEAR PAJAMAS. In fact they’re not even Care Bear pajamas, they’re shitty Chinese knockoff “Care Bare” pajamas, a name that should have probably raised some red flags with my parents prior to their purchase.

After that, Christmas was never the same.

I’m not quite sure why parents are conditioned to get you crappier presents as you age, but I’ve conveniently drawn a pictorial representation of the slow and degenerative path of awesomeness my Christmas presents have taken through the years:

Has your heart been torn out and mutilated by the likes of old Saint Nick? Feel free to join in the discussion if you yourself are a victim of such depravity.

Worst-case scenario, it turns out to be a therapeutic experience where we all learn to cope with our first world existential crises. 

4 Reasons why I Didn’t (and Still Don’t) Deserve my Bachelors Degree

After four years of grueling work, little sleep and plenty of hangover-induced fights with daylight, I graduated college. Though I wasn’t particularly looking forward to announcing to the world that I was now officially unemployed, I reluctantly pranced across a stage waving a piece of paper to appease my parents.

And that’s it.

That was the last time my BA in Political Science was of any use to me. First I blamed the economy. Then I blamed my major. Chances are, it was probably just my fault.

1. It Really Belongs to Wikipedia

Let it be known to the world that I, Shalott Cecchini, am a chronic procrastinator. And though I swear to change, every semester ends up being exactly the same.

I start out with the best of intentions, I really do. I read the syllabus, I buy the books, and sometimes I even show up to the first couple weeks of class. Then as usual, I pretend I have better stuff to do and just stop showing up. 

Usually, this means that by finals week I’ve submitted a variety of half-assed papers and know absolutely nothing about the class.

Well, shit.

Lucky for me, Wikipedia holds the solutions to 99% of my problems. As it turns out, temporarily memorizing the entire history of human rights violations conducted in Argentina in one night is much easier than actually reading the books on your syllabus.

2. I Am A Dirty, Dirty Liar

Sometimes your procrastinating ways end up biting you in the ass. Sometimes you forget to enroll for classes until the day before the semester starts. And sometimes, that means taking a class on British Satire with mandatory attendance at 6pm on a Friday night.

When I managed to score two tickets to a Blink 182 concert, I knew the only thing standing between me and a night of unadulterated awesomeness was a 6pm British satire exam.

So I lied.

With perfectly calculated tears in my eyes I proceeded to tell my professor the devastating news of my senile, albeit favorite, grandmother’s overnight passing while vacationing in Bermuda. Naturally, he understood that recovering the body of my newly defunct grandmother from a foreign land was probably more important than some midterm exam, so off to the concert I went.

3. Online Classes are Total Bullshit

To be completely honest, I’m actually quite proud about this one.

As luck would have it, I discovered the importance of filling your degree plan with useless online courses early on during my stint in academia. Gone were the days of stumbling to class in my pajamas (presuming I actually went to class). Every test was online, the interwebz were my textbook, I was queen of the world!

4. I Know Absolutely Nothing About Anything

I wish I could pretend this wasn’t true. It’s almost shameful. Almost. And then I realize that though it still means I probably don’t deserve to have a degree, this one wasn’t entirely my fault.

If the three previous examples are in any way indicative of how alarmingly easy it is to fake it till’ you make it, then chances are no else actually knows anything either.

Which, for the most part, makes me feel surprisingly better about myself.