Oh, The Stupidity
I've always found it amusing when you open a product and there is some sort of warning about not doing something extraordinarily dumb with the product.
No doubt some idiot won a rather large lawsuit (or at least filed one) blaming the manufacturer for their own profound stupidity. You shouldn't have to be warned not to stick a cattle prod into your nose, it goes without saying that you shouldn't reach under a running lawn mower. And yet, we are warned not to do these things.
The people who actually do these things have to be the ones you knew as children, who did ridiculous things under the auspices that their parents hadn't specifically told them NOT to do it. You know, like dad didn't ever say not to pour gasoline from a mason jar onto a burning fire. Have fun in the burn unit.
In all seriousness, I think a prerequisite to attempting to shift blame for your lack of intelligence onto a manufacturer should be filling out a form called "What did you think was going to happen?" In it, you have to chronicle your total lack of common sense and complete inability to foresee any natural consequence of your brain giving you the thumbs up for something patently stupid. No form, no lawsuit.
Companies are known to be negligent from time to time, but they should not have to account for the bozo who thinks it's a good idea to fashion plastic wrap into a parachute and jump from the roof of their house.
Road Rage Throughout the Ages
We tend to think of road rage as being a recent phenomena. It's certainly more common nowadays, but I believe it has been around for centuries.
There surely would have been chariot rage on the Roman roads. There were simply too many chariots not to have had an incident where one chariot cut off another, or one was going far too slow. After all, it's well-documented that "the finger" has been around for centuries. Where else would it have been invented?
But the concept seems funniest to me on the high seas.
"Hey, Columbus! Get your damn caravel out of the harbor! Could you sail that thing any slower? Admiral of the Ocean Sea, my ass!"
Of course, Columbus no doubt followed the heckler for a few miles before blasting a cannon at him. Sea rage at its finest.
Cutting Down On Air Travel Complaints
In each airport, seemingly collecting dust, are small metal frames that show the correct dimensions for carry-on bags. I personally have never seen anyone (especially airline employees) use them to measure bags.
Much of the annoying aspects of airline travel center around the carry-on bag, and the side effects of the rules not being enforced. The poor people who are boarding last are pretty much resigned to checking their bag, even if their bag is the size of a change purse, because some other lout is hogging more than the allotted space.
Then there's the whole process of getting on the plane. You invariably stand in the aisle as someone attempts to defy the laws of physics to cram their pet elephant into the overhead compartment.
I have a simple solution: The Carry-on Cutter.
The small metal frames come equipped with saw blades that hack off anything that doesn't fit inside. If you don't submit your bag to the cutter, you have to check it. Maybe then people would realize that they didn't need 16 changes of clothes for their weekend trip, or that your relatives really don't care about whatever ridiculous junk you're toting back for them.
Back in the days when I used to use cash to pay for nearly everything, one of my favorite things to do was to inspect the change I'd receive.
I had to make a cursory check to ensure that I didn't get a wheat penny or a silver quarter or nickel back. Then there were those times that I would get something totally unexpected, such as a $2 bill or 50-cent piece. Can you recall the last time you got a 50-cent piece as change? I surely can't, but it has to be at least 10+ years for me since I've even seen one, let alone had one in my possession.
Then there's that strange feeling, like you're doing something wrong, when you spend a $2 bill. Like you're letting it down by not collecting it. The clerk always raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to change your mind and withdraw the bill before it's too late. Or perhaps it is that sense that you're desperate for cash and this is all you got left (which has always been true in my case).
Either way, I don't run across them all that much these days, and I kind of miss seeing the old-fashioned design of the $2 bill and the awkward hugeness of the 50-cent piece.
My brain is a curious thing. It bounces from place to place, from the exceedingly strange to the terribly mundane. Every once in awhile, something will pop into my head that is just completely out of nowhere. Totally random.