@Mysterian I love you, well mainly your written words because I don't actually know you.
People who can't quite say it if they think something- you either know it/want it, or you don't? Delicately couching it in soft words like PERHAPS or IT MIGHT BE NICE IF or WELL, IF YOU'D LIKE TO THEN I GUESS WE CAN. No. No. Proclaim your true wishes to Hades, proclaim them loudly, Tell me what you want, roll it in verbal glitter for excitement purposes if there's time, but be direct. I can't be foffling about trying to decode your daintily ceremonious requests. Please just go for the demands-jugular. I can take it! I have lots of the blood of refusal and rebuttal flowing through these old veins, I can take it right in the jugular. Time is money (if money was actually time, time not spent hearing the foffle). Yes yess, the irony that it took me so many words to say "be direct" isn't lost on me.
People who can evidently use their own hand, their own hand being the important aspect to remember, to open the bin. But then in the 0.3 seconds between using their own hand to open the bin and having to use their own hand to close the bin, they suddenly become squeamish.. And their own hand couldn't possibly perform such an odious task as touching a bin lid. Again.
So the bin remains open and their own hand remains presumably only (acceptably?) 50% sullied by the almost insurmountable task of binning something using naught but the crude tool of their own hand. The bin flapping agape to bring forth the flies, at the mercy of raids from passing arsehole pets, to waft its stench asunder. Shut the fucking lid with your own hand!
People who stop their day, put down their shopping bags, tell Norma to wait a bluddy minute while they visually scour the dashboards of every car in blue badge parking. These heroes of the public right of way, these kings of social order. I can only assume how devastating the crumble of society would be if That Bloke failed to carry out his righteous blue badge checks in every car park he cuts through. The Tories were }{ that close to getting all the That Blokes issued with govt approved binoculars to aid their roilingly indignant scouring.
People who see the world as an extension of their own space. Sure, put your feet up on the self-service to tie your laces, I'll balance my apple somewhere else, maybe on this handy corporeal ball of rage that just erupted out of my soul, I could always just use it like a handy little shelf! And no problem that you're not the one who paid for my fencing, why not let your dog saturate it with piss, why not lean on it, hell, your kids can pick satisfying chunks of wood off it if it helps them pass the time better. That might make it a more interesting surface to ram their bikes into whilst also somehow simultaneously bouncing footballs off it! What fun. The world is truly your oyster.
And I often think, the world would be a better place if simply more women flicked their hair at my face on public transport, or opened something in the shop to see if they like it and leave it trashed and torn asunder, and lets not forget the boys who make sure we all thoroughly enjoy the varied and excellent UK drill and drum and bass on their phones.
Never a journey made worse by hearing someone's TikToks, I personally love the soothing ASMR background of people falling off stuff and swearing, or being pranked into terrified oblivion! The cherry on the top of course being the tiny speakers of a phone transmitting this pure relaxation to us all over the sound of the smell of the bus (yes, the smell is such that it has developed it's own sound. It sounds like piss and skunk mostly, bit of BO and damp clothes thrown in for seasoning).