There’s a special place in hell for…

Barriehie said:
The people that leave "human waste" in the public pool.

I used to put dye markers in my CPO pools to catch the guilty.
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I remember being at resorts in Mexico and knowing full well that some of those people who were drinking up a storm but didn't leave the pool for 4 hours or more to use the restroom were peeing in it. And those people who think that those "Little Swimmers" diaper trunks really work to keep little Johnny's doo-doo out of the pool...well really? They know they get blowouts at home in diapers, the kind that when the baby has an upset tummy the results go all the way up to their necks somehow...ugh.
 
JAS_OH1 said:
I remember being at resorts in Mexico and knowing full well that some of those people who were drinking up a storm but didn't leave the pool for 4 hours or more to use the restroom were peeing in it. And those people who think that those "Little Swimmers" diaper trunks really work to keep little Johnny's doo-doo out of the pool...well really? They know they get blowouts at home in diapers, the kind that when the baby has an upset tummy the results go all the way up to their necks somehow...ugh.
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With you 100%
 
There's a special place in hell for ...

This morning, I watch an Amazon Prime Van NOT move out of the way of an ambulance, who was blaring his/her siren to beat the band and lights flashing, the whole nine yards that they do.
Did the Amazon driver move over?
NO!
The other drivers on the road were also honking their horns at the driver, waving and all ... did the Amazon driver move over?
NO!
 
karadekoolaid said:
...and Sunday drivers? You know, those "people" who only take the car out on Sundays, drive down the middle of the road at 20 kph, signal the wrong way, etc??
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My dad was always partial to a lazy Saturday drive, and he always tried to stick to backroads (think B roads and single tracks) in order to be able to indulge his whim of meandering unmolested by others who seemed to always be in a race to get somewhere.

We’d turn off the busy state highway, onto a less-populated secondary road…then an even smaller county track…then a little township lane, all to avoid any other people, so he could drive 20mph and he and Mom could casually look out on barns and pastures, old broken-down farm equipment in front of even more broken-down farm houses, and just enjoy a bit of calmness.

It never failed, though - as soon as we’d left the last of civilization behind, nothing but us and the trees and a gurgling little creek along one side, we’d round a little corner and…ZOOM!!!…seemingly out of nowhere, some jerk in a sports car would swoop in and start laying on the horn, on a road with no way to pass and no shoulder.

Dad was a man I’d heard utter a vulgarity just twice in his life, and on one of these occasions was that second time:

“I swear tah the God Almighty,” he spat out in disgust, “If’n I’s goin’ straight tah Hell, some idiot’d be ridin’ my ass all the way there!”
 
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