My pet peeve of the day is when someone can't shut the fuck up about something you already know.
My example this evening was:
At work, I was a closer. Part of my closing duties includes collecting the candle votives (or, as human beings call them, tea lights in shot glasses), then dumping all the candles out and sending the glasses to the dishwasher.
As I was doing this, one of the busboys saw a couple of trays already filled wth lit candles and blew them out. I don't know if he did it due to irresistable urge or stupidity--I've seen evidence of both in this particular young man--but having no desire to burn up my hands relighting them, I went and continued collecting lit candles.
With a full tray of lit candles, I headed out to where my trays of now-extinguished candles were. Geez this buildup is dull. The payoff s dull, too. You should probably stop reading now.
I run into the bartender on the way to said trays. He stops me and says "You know, let me just tell you something." He walks me over to the candles. I know what he's going to say and I keep hoping he won't, but he does: "You shouldn't blow out these candles; they get hard and then they stick to the sides and you can't dump--"
"I know," I interrupt. "I think one of the busboys did it."
"Yes," he says, even perhaps a bit annoyed, "but the wax is going to be all cold and you should never blow them out or you can't dump them."
"I didn't blow them out. I know that. I close this restaurant all the time."
"But just so you know, you shouldn't blow them--"
"I know."
"I'm just saying that you shouldn't--"
. . .and I believe at this point I shouted at him. He had it coming. Sort of.
Actually, I probably would have handled it better except for that I'm uber-hormonal right now. My you-knows hurt and my cravings are taking me through a course in shellfish awareness.
Don't worry. Definitely not pregnant.
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