Under My Skin

Maybe I'm a little sensitive, maybe a little touchy, or maybe - just maybe - I'm a touch too polite. Living the Golden Rule and all, it just aggravates me when people don't think of others when just a moment's consideration would go so far.
   Here, in no particular order, are various impolite things that have gotten under my skin lately.

In the car:
   The douchebag in the Cadillac Escalade in front of me flicking his cigarette ash out the sunroof.
   Same douchebag veering across three lanes of traffic to make an exit.
   The battered green LeBaron making a right turn from the left lane. Just go a few blocks down, turn around and come back. Nothing you have on your agenda is more important than my life.
   The flattened aluminum cans falling like raindrops from the flatbed trailer pulled by the wheezing and laboring Ford utility pickup. You can't be environmentally conscious about recycling if you're littering for miles on your way to the reclamation station.

In the grocery store:
   Every woman who's ever pushed a grocery cart in a grocery store. The place is packed full of people, you're not alone. Get the hell out of the center of the aisle. Watch the men, see how they stay out of each other's way? Do that.
   Morbidly obese people elbowing people out of the way to get to the diet soda. You're not fooling anyone, and you're only making your condition worse.
   Serving sushi in the middle of a South Texas Summer, right at the front of the store. So many things wrong with this idea it's hard to know where to begin the list.
   The person who forgets his coupons until he's already paid for his groceries with his debit card, so the clerk has to give him cash back. Seems like some sort of scam to me.

At the Post Office:
   The passport office is that one over there. With the big label that says 'Passport Office.' Don't get snippy with the clerks because you waited in the wrong line.
   Mr. Impatient who shows up at the Post Office at noon on a weekday and is put out when he has to wait more than two minutes. Of course if all the passport people weren't in the wrong line...
   The same Mr. Impatient who gets testy when the postal clerks run through their list of added services. It's their job to ask, so don't get all pissy about it, just say 'No, thank you' like your parents taught you when you were three.

In the gym:
   Mr. Smell-Good. The slightest spritz of Axe body spray makes you smell like an Armenian pimp, practically drowning in it clears the room. Just take a bath like a normal person, Junior.
   The Chatty Kathies on the treadmill. It's a gym, not a coffee shop, and you're yelling to be heard over the whir of the machines. I can hear every icky detail of your lady-parts surgery story, and I'm twenty feet away.
   The Creeper standing by the water fountain, trying to be slick while he watches the hot chicks on the eliptical machines. Gonna get yourself arrested there, Peeping Tom.