Jennifer Worick - Things I Want to Punch in the Face

The views expressed in this book are solely those of the author, and she means no harm by them. Unless you decide to sue her, in which case shell want to punch you in the face.

Copyright 2015 by Jennifer Worick

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Prospect Park Books

2359 Lincoln Avenue

Altadena, California 91001

prospectparkbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress The following is for reference only:

Worick, Jennifer.

Things I want to punch in the face / by Jennifer Worick. 2nd ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-938849-57-2

1. American wit and humor. I. Title.

PN6165.W66 2012

973.920207--dc23

2012013640

Second edition, first printing

DESIGNED BY KATHY KIKKERT

THE TABLE OF PUNCHES

INTRODUCTION A LITTLE (BITTER) BACKSTORY

W elcome to the new edition of Things I Want to Punch in the Face, a non-rose-colored-glasses view on life. See, things irk my shit on a daily basis. Alone, they are not a big deal, but add to it a stressed gal with a short fuse and you getyou guessed it, Einstein!something I want to punch in the face.

So without further ado, I present my latest take-no-prisoners take on lifes little annoyances.

For instance, Id like to smack down waiters who top off my coffee without asking. I might have just gotten it to the right temperature and blend of cream and sugar when they come along and fill up my decaf cup with regular joe while Im eyeballing the dessert menu. Im the boss of me, not someone with a nametag! I want to punch these presumptive knobs in the face.

Im not gonna lie: This isnt a new phenomenon. Its easy to say that Im as bitter as black coffee because of the economy or my perpetually single status or an extra ten pounds. I could talk about the crappy eight days that prompted me to actually start recording my peeves in ridiculous detail. But if Im honest with myself, and with you, things bug me on a daily, if not hourly, basis. They always have. Im generally a good-natured, dare I say happy, person, but Im also human. Like Alanis Morissette, a fly in my Chardonnay isnt something Im going to celebrate. (Unlike Alanis Morissette, I know the definition of ironic.)

But I just might bitch about it, maybe even write about it. And Im not alone. You probably have had moments or days where you wanted to kick something, scream, or burst out laughing at the absurdity of lumbersexuals or white pizza. Maybe you even wanted to punch something in the face. Hard. Nows your chance, at least vicariously. And hey, if you really do have to clean somethings clock, why not aim your fist at this book cover? I aim to please, and so I hope youll be as pleased as punch reading these rants as I was when I smacked them down.

GUIDE TO THE PUNCHES

ANNOYING

like a mild rash

AGGRAVATING

like a black eye

DISGUSTING

like an open sore

TOXIC

like acid reflux or IBS

PERMANENTLY DAMAGED

like my patience

PUNCH RATING

I recently was flying out of Seattle when I realized just how low I ranked on the food chain of travel. I wasnt flying first class. Or business class. And I didnt have gold, silver, or aluminum status. I wasnt a member of the military, or even wearing camo cargo pants ironically. I didnt have small children or a feeble grandparent in tow. I wasnt disabled, on crutches, or zooming around in one of those motorized La-Z-Boy scooters.

And no, I wasnt sporting a Russell Wilson Seahawks jersey. Which on that day moved you to the front of the pre-boarding line. It didnt matter that I checked in twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes before our flight. I clearly was not part of any cool kids club.

Can it really be called pre-boarding when ninety percent of passengers are locked and loaded by the time they announce Zone One? Airlines want us to pay for upgrades so we can board earlier and, more importantly, feel as though were part of an elite group, the Star-Bellied Sneetches of the skies.

Heres an idea: Maybe they should shift it to post-boarding. Board all of the seemingly normal, deodorant-wearing folks first and then call for the dregs. Wearing patchouli? You can take the seat in the very last row. Lump all the Chatty Cathys together and seat them in the same row. Got a pupu platter of dietary issues? You get to board only after the gate attendant flogs you with a bunch of lacinato kale that you get in lieu of the snack pack. Carrying a shit-ton of computer equipment so you can rock some in-flight spreadsheets? Enjoy sitting between the 67 dude in front of you and the inconsolable toddler who likes to kick behind you.

Or maybe the airlines should just go all Lord of the Flies at the boarding gate and let us fend for ourselves. Armed with my conch shell as my only carry-on item, Ill be elbowing my way to the exit row in short order, Russell Wilson jersey or no.

PUNCH RATING