Week 7: Elevator Etiquette

This week I'll be talking about those fancy steel boxes that transport you from one level of a building to another. You know, elevators. Full disclosure: I was deathly afraid of elevators until I was at least 12, so I rarely took them. I was still able to figure out proper elevator etiquette because I'm a normal functioning human being who can read and understand social cues. Earth shattering, I know. If I could figure it out at age 12, people who have been using elevators since birth should have it down pat, right? Shockingly enough, that's not the case.

When to get on: This one is pretty simple, folks. You get on the elevator after the people on the elevator have gotten off. It's not a race to see who can get into the box the fastest after the doors slide open. How many times have you gotten to your floor and stood by the door, ready to step out into the hall, when all of a sudden you're standing face to face with Impatient Isaac, who's poised to stride onto the elevator with no regard for anybody else? Wait the three seconds for people to step off the elevator. You won't miss your shot at the elevator ride of a lifetime. It'll all be okay, I promise.

Number of floors: If you take the elevator up one level and you're not handicapped, fuck you. Drag your lazy ass up one flight of stairs and maybe you'll shed a few pounds. Someone should build an elevator with a function where if you press the button to go up or down just one floor, Mike Tyson comes out and punches you in the throat. The elevator is made for people who are physically unable to take the stairs and for people who have to go to the 15th floor. It's not made for you to use after your exhausting 100 yard walk from the parking lot.

Talking on the phone: Do not talk on the phone in an elevator. If you're already talking on the phone, don't get into an elevator. It's that easy. Nobody wants to be stuck in a small ass steel cube with you anyway, and they certainly don't want to hear you tell Julie about how Alex is totally hooking up with Hannah but she deserves so much better than him because she's only hooked up with 30 guys this semester and he's hooked up with like 50 girls. You'd think the fact that you lose service in an elevator would be a pretty good deterrent for this behavior, but it's not. Inevitably the phone will drop the call, at which point the person will gaze at the screen with an astonished look as if hundreds of thousands of pounds of concrete and about 6 inches of steel don't usually interrupt their cell service. People suck.

Not holding the door: This one goes two ways. First, hold the door when people are getting on and off the elevator, asshole. Don't just let the doors close on that little old lady and act like there's nothing you could have done about it. Now on the other hand, if you're running up to the elevator and the doors are halfway closed, don't scream "HOLD THE DOOR!" Um, no, screw you. If you think I'm risking my arm so that you can avoid waiting two minutes for the next elevator, you're delusional. I also don't have the lightning-fast reflexes required to find and press the "open door" button within 1.5 seconds. You're taking the next elevator, and I don't feel bad about it at all.

Elevator capacity: Contrary to popular belief, you cannot fit an entire city's population into an elevator. I don't care how short the ride is, I don't want to be pressed up against somebody just because the last 6 people didn't want to wait for the next elevator. Guys, elevators are not rare animals. I've seen a bunch of them in my short 21 years. What I'm getting at is that another one will come around, and in less than 3 minutes. You don't need to pack into it like white girls into a brand new Starbucks. 

People really need to learn how to properly use elevators. It's not challenging. It's actually just about the easiest thing you could do. All you have to do is be a respectable human being, a quality that continues to escape an astounding percentage of our population. 

The next time you take an elevator, just open up Cole's Complaints if you need to remind yourself how you should act. Good luck on those elevators this week. It's a jungle out there.

Week 6: Grammar

Alright loyal readers, we need to talk about something: your grammar sucks. Never has a generation had more trouble with simple English than ours. I don't know if that's actually true, but I can't imagine that our society would have made it this far if our ancestors spoke and wrote the way most everybody does today. I don't know if it's an education issue or just that people don't care, but I often feel as if I'm one of the few people in college who graduated from third grade. It's nearly impossible to peer review papers based on content because I have to sift through pages upon pages of grammatical bullshit. Buckle in for a lesson.

Here's a simple chart I made to help you out

They're, Their, There: It's really pretty simple. The items found in the chart above are some of the most common mistakes even though they're probably the simplest to fix. I'm so tired of people saying things like "your a asshole, stop corectin my grammer." While I may be "a asshole," I'm really just trying to help you pull that D+ average up so you can graduate from your 7th year of college with some dignity. No matter how many times I explain the simple rules found above, I will undoubtedly receive a text soon afterwards that reads: "my teacher is such a dik! He is makin me go 2 his office but i dont wanna go over their." If you don't know why either of those sentences are incorrect, educate yourself until you figure it out. I can guarantee that if you memorize these 5 rules, all of which you should've memorized before you left the womb elementary school, you'll see at least a letter grade higher on every paper.

Me and my friends: If you never write a single thing, you could maybe squeak through life without learning those 5 rules and avoid sounding like you fall on your head every morning. There are lots of grammatical rules, however, that are easily identifiable in every day speech. One of them is "me and my friends" or, correctly, "my friends and I." If you say "me and John went to the movies," or something equivalent, I assume that you drink a lot of Mountain Dew and enjoy listening to Nickelback. Of course, everybody makes mistakes and I'm only talking about the people who say this regularly. Here's how this rule works, Mountain Dew-drinking imbeciles: if you're saying, "I am going to learn how to use proper grammar," then for you and a friend it would be "John and I are going to learn how to use proper grammar." On the other hand, if you're saying, "Cole taught me some valuable lessons today," then for you and a friend it would be "Cole taught Stacy and me some valuable lessons today." Get it? Got it? Good. Moving right along.

Incorrect spelling: You can't fix stupid. There is pretty much nothing you can do about this one except learn how to spell. There's even a magical computer program that exists today called spellcheck. This wizardry will look at what you've typed and will put an idiot-proof red line underneath the word if you spelled it wrong. Seems simple, right? Evidently not. I had a group project last year on discrimination in the workplace, and one of my group members was writing about sexism. Throughout the entire paper she spelled it sexisum. Not, once, not twice, but every damn time she used the word. Is "sexisum" a recognized word in the dictionary of computer magic? You bet your sweet ass it's not. And when was the last time you saw a Facebook post from that high school friend who always posts selfies that didn't have a spelling mistake in it? Oh, never? That's what I thought. That's the same person who thinks Alaska is part of Canada and spells Native Americans "Nate of Americans." Frequent spelling mistakes (learning disabilities aside, and trust me, Greg who works at Chili's doesn't have a learning disability) are a great mark of idiocy.

I hope you all enjoyed this week's installment, and maybe some of you even learned a thing or two. 

Week 5: The Worst People in Class

Well, school has reappeared like herpes. We all know that school sucks, but it goes much deeper than just long Red Bull-and-Taco Bell-fueled nights and early morning classes with monotonous professors. The return of school also means the return of thousands of morons that you've been trying to avoid since the beginning of your freshman year. Yes, this week's blog post is about the worst people in class, which is really nearly everyone. Disclaimer: These names have genders but horrible people can be both men and women. We don't discriminate here.

Person 1: Incessantly Late Larry. This person, no matter what, will never arrive to class on time. Doesn't matter if the class is at 8:30 am or 3:00 pm, he'll be late. Larry is guaranteed to be the guy who climbs over you to get to the seat in the middle of the row 15 minutes into class, with absolutely no apology issued. Why is Larry always late? It's a complete mystery. The most dumbfounding part about Incessantly Late Larry is that he never seems to understand that he's doing something wrong. If the professor calls him out for being late, he'll usually respond with some sort of bulletproof alibi like, "sorry, I was sleeping." Larry is also guaranteed to be unprepared. I had a Larry sitting next to me in my 10:05 class today (he came 15 minutes late, because who can wake up for a 10:05 class, right?) and he was taking notes on his phone. Really? You don't have a single piece of paper or a pen in your backpack? What is it full of, excuses? There's guaranteed to be a Larry in your class, but he's nowhere near the worst.

Person 2: Body Odor Olivia. This person smells like a garbage can slept inside a sewer, then took a shit shower before class. They usually reek of cigarettes, last night's mistakes, 3 week old jeans, mayonnaise, and a hint of death. You can smell this person when they walk in the room and all you can do is pray that they don't sit next to you. Inevitably, they do. No joke, I've moved because a Body Odor Olivia sat next to me. How am I expected to sit next to a human dumpster for an hour and 15 minutes and not singe the inside of my nostrils? Plus, I'm always worried that some of their stench will leech into my own clothing. Here's a handy tip: use deodorant, brush your teeth, and take a fucking shower every once in a while. Everybody around you will thank you, and you might see your 10 year friendship drought finally end.

Person 3: Mouth Breather Brendan. This person is a neanderthal. It's really a wonder how they got into college at all. You can only assume that their parents have a lot of money. If not, they're going absolutely nowhere. This person often overlaps with Incessantly Late Larry. This is the guy who asks the professor where they should put their name on the Scantron. Definitely NOT in the big section that says NAME. That's where you put your social security number and a photo of the front and back of your credit card, please and thanks. Mouth Breather Brendans travel in packs. They'll all walk in on the first day laughing hysterically about how this is the 3rd time they've taken this class. I guess there's something hilarious about being in college for 6 years. When a Brendan sits next to you, they'll ask you what page the professor is on when the professor is reading from an internet article. They'll say things like, "ugh, I haven't been out to the bars all week" on a Tuesday morning. They'll ask to borrow your calculator in English class. Mouth Breather Brendans are idiots. They're the reason that professors say, "there are no such thing as bad questions." But you know for damn sure there are.

Person 4: Obviously-A-Freshman Fred: This person is quite a freshman. We were all freshman at one point, and I don't mean to say that we weren't. But this person is the worst type of freshman. Fred comes into class on the first day and introduces himself to each and every human sitting around him. Then, he asks what their major is, where they're from, and what they want to be when they're "all grown up." Fred probably has his room key and student ID hanging from a lanyard around his neck, and was the first person on campus to have a hoverboard. It's cool to be a freshman, Fred, but don't make it so damn obvious. It's painful.

Person 5: Overly Eager Elizabeth. This person is the worst of all five. Elizabeth answers every single question in class, considers her summer job at Burger King an internship, and emailed the professor over the summer to introduce herself. She thinks she's better than everybody else in the class, and she doesn't ever consider the fact that maybe other people are doing just as well as her but don't feel the need to gloat about it. Sometimes, Overly Eager Elizabeth raises her hand so fast that you think she might have dislocated her shoulder. The most satisfying part about these people is that usually, the professor thinks they're just as annoying as the rest of the class does. This person also still talks about her SAT scores, and when she was a freshman she told everyone she was "technically a sophomore because of AP credits." Thank God she's graduating in only 3 years, because then we don't have to deal with her anymore. 

There are scores upon scores of obnoxious people at any college. The worst part is that a lot of them date each other, which means they'll eventually reproduce and have the worst kids on the planet. The cycle will never end. 

See you all next week.

Week 4: LOL

Okay, I know what's on all of your minds. I missed a week. I'm sorry. That's going to happen every once in a while if you want quality blog posts. But you know the coolest part about having missed a week? It really doesn't matter what you think because it's my blog. This week I'll be talking about something that any rational, older-than-preteen person should also take issue with, and that is the shortening of phrases into words that don't exist. I'm talking about things like "lol" or "btw" or "brb" or "pwutdbttf" (people who use these deserve bricks to the face).

This is a real problem. These acronyms emerged in the mid 2000s, when all of us first started using instant messaging. It was also, coincidentally, when we were all first learning how to type. So naturally we developed acronyms so we could avoid having to type. That was all well and good IN 6TH GRADE. The problem is that it stuck with us, and now those 6th graders are college students and they're still using these damn acronyms. Please don't put "btw" in a text to me. You're educated. It really doesn't take that much longer to type "by the way" (I should know, I just typed it) and it makes you sound at least 60 times smarter. And trust me, some of you people need all the help you can get. This is a real message that was put in a GroupMe by one of my real friends who goes to my real college:

Can anybody else decode this nonsense? Because I had to ask what like 4 of these things meant. For reference: plz=please, lmk=let me know, bc=because, kms=kill myself. I think an easier way to write this would have been, "Smne plz lmk who n thre rte mnd wnts 4 kds n 4 yrs bc i wnt 2 kms." It gets the same message across and took like, at least 5 fewer seconds to write. I've also learned that if you can write like that, it makes you the coolest kid in your middle school.

Another problem with these acronyms is that it's never really clear what they mean. My mom thought "lol" meant little old ladies for like 2 years before we told her it meant laughing out loud. My dad thought it meant lots of love. Do you know how disastrous that could have been? Imagine a Facebook post about somebody who's lost a loved one, and my dad comments, "Lol, keeping you in my prayers!" That could have actually happened. Thank goodness it didn't. If nobody knows the acronym that you're using, it completely defeats the purpose of using that acronym. It doesn't make the conversation any shorter if everybody has to ask you what the hell you're trying to say. 

I realized a few weeks ago, with shock, that this disease had afflicted my family as well. We were sitting in the car, and my sister said "lmk" (which means let me know, as you'll remember) in verbal communication. As in, my two sisters were talking, and she said something along the lines of, "yeah sure, just lmk." That came out of her mouth. Do you know what this means for my family? We had to move. Both of my parents had to quit their jobs. That sister was forced to drop out of college and she's now living a humble life as a blueberry farmer. It's one thing to type three letters because you think it's shorter than typing three words. You'll look ridiculous, but you could at least back up your actions with facts and statistics. But "lmk" and "let me know", in verbal communication, have the same number of syllables. That means it takes the exact same amount of time to say either one. So you could say "lmk" and look like a jackass, or you could say "let me know" and look like, well, a normal human being speaking to another normal human being. Because that's how humans communicate.

My real fear for my sister is how this will affect her in the future. Does she speak to her friends like that? What do they think of her? What will happen when she goes to a job interview? If the interviewer says "let me know what you think about our benefits," will she just respond with a blank stare because she's forgotten what let me know means? If the interviewer says something funny, will she respond with, "lol" instead of just laughing? These are questions that need answers. 

There's no question that these acronyms are making us, as a society, dumber. I think all colleges should hold a class on how to erase all the bad habits that your 6th grade self learned. In it, you'll learn about deodorant that isn't Axe, how to spell out full words, how to properly address an email, the difference between your and you're, and how to have a full conversation without using the word bro. We'll call it Being an Adult 101.

I hope you all enjoyed this week's post. Farewell until next week. 

Week 3: Personal Space

Gather 'round. This week, Uncle Cole is going to be talking about an issue you'll all find very pertinent as the shit pile that is the holiday season begins to reach neck-depth. We'll be covering personal space. Ah yes, personal space. That little bubble that everybody insists on stealing from you.

I seem to have a lot of run-ins with people whose personal space bubble extends no further than the layer of sweat coating their skin. Take the girl I mentioned at the cheeseburger place in Week 1: there I was, peacefully waiting for my 20% meat cheeseburger so I could carry on with my 20% productive day, and she feels the need to come stand about 3 inches to my right even though there's an acre of space to my left. We were the only two waiting for burgers. So I took out my phone, wrote "when people stand too close to me" in the blog topics section of my notes app (which she saw) and took two huge side steps to my left, while glaring at her.

I just don't get it. Do people not understand that their bodies take up space? I don't want to feel your hot breath down my neck or smell the deodorant that you put on 4 days ago. During this magical holiday season, personal space ceases to exist. Going shopping? So is everybody else. I went to the pharmacy the other day, and it was packed. The guy behind me in line was standing so close to me that I thought he might have been trying to steal skin samples. And don't even get me started on mistletoe. The thought of being forced to kiss somebody is vomit-inducing. Whose idea was that? Do they not know that it's flu season? Plus, mistletoe is poisonous. We might as well be kissing under the black widow's web. Nothing like being forced to share an intimate moment with a loved one (or a stranger) because of a toxic plant. 

I think I produce some sort of pheromone that attracts people who have no concept of personal space. Every day is like a nightmare when you're surrounded by people who like to stand or sit too close to you. When I sit down in class and there are 5 seats on either side of me, that's not an invitation to sit next to me. In fact, it's pretty much the opposite. Evidently I need to either stop showering or start wearing a sign that says "DON'T SIT HERE YOU NEANDERTHAL" because nobody can figure that out. There needs to be at least a one seat buffer so I don't have to hear you breathe or smell your "I peaked in high school" body spray. I sit in class just praying that nobody will sit next to me that day.

The absolute worst form of personal space abuse is touching. I am not a hugger. Do I look like a hugger? I have a blog about how much I hate things. Why do people insist on hugging other people all the time. I don't want anybody's body that close to mine. I'm perfectly comfortable over here, saying hello to you at a respectable distance. Being poked is essentially being stabbed by a finger. If you poke me, and you're not in preschool, expect to have a scathing tweet written about you. Actually, preschoolers are not excluded from that. Might as well learn early. And have you ever talked to somebody who seemingly needs to maintain constant contact with you while they talk? It's like they're so used to having people run away during their boring stories that they need to make sure you're still there.

I've found that the best way to deal with these people, as with most people, is to just be very rude. Somebody sits next to you in class when you very clearly have open seats next to you? Get up and shift one seat over. Somebody stands too close to you in line? Make eye contact and step forward. Somebody touches you unnecessarily? Tell them what they've done, do it back, or tweet about them. Any of those would work. Rudeness always gets the point across.

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas/Holiday season, and please don't violate people's personal space.

Week 2: Chubbies

Welcome back. I'm actually surprised that so many of you read last week's post. I was expecting like 10 views and a couple "screw you Cole nobody cares about your thoughts" comments. But I'm back for another week.

This week, I want to touch on an issue that's sweeping across college campuses like influenza. I want to talk about the scraps of multi-colored fabric some men like to wear, called Chubbies. Some of you may be thinking, "Cole, why are you writing about Chubbies now, in mid December?" to those people I say: screw you, write your own blog. If you're not familiar with these "shorts" they're basically girls' shorts marketed to men. The longest ones go to mid-thigh. On full grown men. Who wants to see that? I certainly don't. The first time I saw a human man wearing Chubbies, I thought he was wearing boxers. That's because Chubbies are basically boxers. They even have elastic waistbands. I can't decide if the elastic is more for ease of access (because the wearers tend to be so lazy) or to accommodate the ever-expanding beer guts of the slugs that wear them. 

The problem I have with Chubbies actually isn't the product itself so much as the frame of mind that they've cultivated. Seriously, unless you're a person who wears Chubbies (and why are you reading this blog?), have you ever seen somebody wearing these glorified underpants and thought, "hey, that guy seems like somebody I'd really like to get to know." I know I certainly haven't. Usually my line of thought is closer to, "hey, that guy looks like somebody who goes to class when it works best with his schedule. Also, he has a really punchable face." People that wear Chubbies are douchebags. It's that simple. Is that a generalization? Definitely. Is it deserved? Absolutely.

Here's another thing about Chubbies: people come up with "cute" taglines for reasons to wear them, like "sky's out thighs out." If that's the case, you should wear your lady shorts every day of the year because THE SKY IS ALWAYS OUT. That might be the dumbest slogan I've ever heard. Ok so let's say you've decided that this slogan means if it's cloudy, you shouldn't wear your Chubbies. Scientifically inaccurate, but fair enough. Then please explain this school of rainbow fish, wearing Chubbies on a cloudy day:

Sky's out thighs out? Well yes, because the sky is always out. But good luck getting any sun on your pasty white thighs. Also, little side note, why is that guy wearing an untied bow tie? That's the wardrobe equivalent of driving around with the gas cap hanging off of your car. Don't do that, you'll look like an idiot.

If you want to wander over to the Chubbies website (I don't recommend it) you'll notice that there are no pictures of young professionals wearing their colorful boxer shorts to business meetings. No, the pictures are all of slow-talking morons climbing mountains, on boats, in houses, etc. They don't have people wearing the shorts in their product pictures because that might dissuade you from actually buying them. 

Chubby season is the worst time of the year. Seeing just one overweight, pasty-white man showing off his hairy ass thighs is enough to ruin your whole week. Come late March, I'll be seeing several of those every single day. I know I'm not alone.

I hope you all enjoyed this week's installment, and I hope this is enough to make Chubbies' sales drop by like half a percent for the week.

Good night and good luck.

Week 1: Introduction and Driving in Columbia

Welcome to Cole's Complaints. This is a safe space. My safe space. Here, I will unleash my verbal fury on the world in the form of weekly blog posts. Some of you may know that lots of things bother me. Most would consider those to be "little things." I call those little things "super annoying." I've been documenting things that bother me (not that challenging) over the past week or so, so I should have plenty of material. For example, earlier this week some girl stood way too close to me while I was waiting for a cheeseburger. She then saw me write "when people stand too close to me" on my phone. Sorry I'm not sorry. Maybe she'll learn. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.

For week 1, we'll be talking about the never ending shitshow that is driving in Columbia, South Carolina.

Issue 1: Road quality. Have you ever thought to yourself, "hey, I wonder what this perfectly paved road would look like if it had as many craters as a greasy preteen's face?" Welcome to Columbia. There are so many potholes here. I cracked a wheel because of one. People get flat tires here all the time. I have a friend that has had 3 flat tires within the past year. The other day, I hit a pothole so hard that it set off one of my vertigo episodes. That's not a joke. If you see somebody swerving around on the road, they're probably not drunk. They're probably avoiding the Mariana Trench pothole right in front of them.

Issue 2: The trains. The freaking trains. I grew up in D.C. For those of you that don't know, D.C. is rated as the city with the worst traffic in the country year after year. Here's some proof if you don't believe me: http://fortune.com/2015/08/26/worst-traffic/. I would rather drive in D.C. than deal with the trains in Columbia. I don't know who the genius was that decided to criss-cross the most populated city in the state of South Carolina with train tracks, but I hope they received the worst haircut of their life shortly afterwards. Do you know how long trains are? Usually about a mile long. Do you know how fast they move through cities? Really fucking slow. I have waited 45 minutes behind a train before. I decided to turn around and go home. That's right. I quit that day. I decided not to do that day because of a train.

Issue 3: The people. Everybody, and I mean everybody in Columbia sucks at driving. South Carolina has the second worst drivers in the country, behind only Montana. And boy do I feel bad for the people of Montana. I don't have words for how horrible the drivers are here. I am cut off countless times every day. People run red lights like it's their job. The other day I was sitting next to this guy at a red light. Stopped. Because (brace yourselves) that's what you do at red lights. And then he just went. He consciously pressed the accelerator and drove through a solid red light. This was the middle of the day, in dense traffic. People just do what they want here. You think texting and driving is a problem? I've seen people reading the newspaper and driving. I've never felt so close to death as I have driving in Columbia. And people just don't give a shit. Oh, you drive a brand new BMW with your sorority letters on the back? How long did you have to work to pay for that yourself? You know that person doesn't care because she won't have to pay for anything that happens to her car. Maybe if she didn't have to snapchat her trip to Greek Village for brunch, she wouldn't be cutting me off.

You'll never truly know how much it sucks to drive in Columbia until you experience it yourself. But if you ever do come down here to drive, I suggest you wrap your car in pillows and bubble wrap and stay as far away from sorority letters as you can.

See you next week.