I’ve never used a 16 oz’er but I like the 8 oz’ers that are sometimes in hotel rooms. It’s both airy and difficult to tip.
Any port in a storm. Or Malbec. 
GAAAAHHHHHHH! I thought I was the only one! I hate that!
This, though I hope I don’t disqualify it by agreeing.
And worse: I used to live in a semi-rural area. My neighbor across the road had a donkey–much louder than a yapping dog, plus it stuttered. I’d like awake through “HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE” until it finally got to the “HAW.” Rinse and repeat, all night, every night. How the owners could sleep, I have no idea.
If they were drinking wine out of a coffee mug how would viewers know it was wine?
I can name something more annoying than little yappy dogs: Big yappy dogs. My mom’s neighbors have a dog that’s some sort of bullish mix, about 80 pounds, and it still yips. To be fair, it only seems to do it under two circumstances: When there’s another dog outside to yip at, or when it’s trying to get another dog to come outside.
This has to do with all those new “make it how you prefer” chains of restaurants. Chipotle, MOD Pizza, Quizno’s, that kind of place.
- There’s always very loud music playing.
- The food assembler is on the other side of a thick glass divider.
- The assembler is often a timid teenage girl with a faint little voice.
- She must say her oft-repeated scripted lines, which are often written by some marketing yahoo who doesn’t know how normal people speak. I.e., at a point when you’d expect her to say “Anything else?”, she must say “How is your pizza looking to you now?” Her sentence comes out as gibberish to me, given points 1-3 above.
This all results in me yelling out “What?” all the way down the line. And lest you think it’s because I’m an old broad, I see young male customers yelling “what?” just like I do.
But nobody else complains. I’d like to complain, but judging by the music they play, I’m not the demographic group that they give a crap about.
I can’t stand the words “arguably” and “inarguably”.
After reading that literally no longer means literally I’ve added that the list of words I’ll never use as well.
And the cigarette butts give it extra body.
Literally still means literally. It just has a new buddy.
I hear you. My dad has been driving big rigs for 50+ years and it’s amazing how badly some clueless drivers behave around tractor trailers.
My peeve is colleagues whose offices are disaster sites. I’m OCD about my office for both myself and my students. I think towering stacks of messy papers and no gestures toward making their spaces pleasant sends a bad message; I have messy coworkers come to my office for meetings because their disaster areas make me anxious. Two guys in particular have hoarded offices that could be on TLC. Ah well, academics aren’t known for being neat.
My other peeve is my female colleagues who do the “I shouldn’t be eating this doughnut, I’m so fat, tee hee!” STFU and just eat it, you weigh 87lbs and this isn’t a cafeteria table of mean high school girls reassuring you that you’re not fat. This 5’9 175lb chick could give a shit what you put in your skinny pothole.
These same women cut pastries people bring to work into six pieces and point out that they’re just taking a teeny piece (“tee hee”). Then they return five times throughout the day to eat the rest. Just shut up and take the whole thing your dirty mitts have germed up.God I hate this stupid girl shit.
Pronouncing the confection made from boiled sweetened milk as “car-mel”.
It is spelled CARAMEL and should be pronounced “care-a-mel”. Unfortunately, Webster’s disagrees with me as to the preferred pronunciation.
Carmel is a mountain in Israel!
I almost always right-click on a link and open in a new window, leaving the previous window untouched. Because sometimes you can’t get back where you want to by clicking the back button.
Another tv cliche peeve: whenever kids are being rounded up in the morning preparatory to driving them to school, a parent ALWAYS says, “Hurry up, we’re going to be late.” I get so tired of that.
I used to have a secretary (back when people had secretaries) who was late every single day. Every day. Without fail. You could set your clock by her. Not very late-- only 10 minutes. I didn’t care. But every day she’d arrive breathlessly at the door of our office 10 minutes late and breathlessly apologize. I told her, “I don’t care if you’re 10 minutes late. Don’t apologize. It doesn’t bother me.” And the lateness didn’t bother me. But the apologizing drove me nuts.
Subject-verb agreement on the local news (“The team were staying at a local hotel…”).
Misuse of “alleged” (“The man was allegedly shot…”) No NO. And it’s not an “alleged suspect,” just a suspect.
Mangling the pronunciation of commonly used place names.
My wife’s pet peeve is my non-stop complaining about this when the news is on.
Why is it that it’s always the “intrepid”, “courageous”, “hard-working” news reporters who report on-scene from natural disaster/storm areas that get all the praise when the hardest working professionals on scene (the camera operators) get squat? They are in the same difficult working conditions but they are also saddled with big, heavy, awkward camera equipment yet they keep pace with the unencumbered reporters. That’s always bugged me.
I’ll see your donkey and raise you roosters. I hate mother-fucking roosters. There are some (illegally) at the place across from my parents. The damn things never sleep. They’re out at all hours, shrieking. It’s enough to get me muttering about target practice. When I lived in a more rural location, my neighbors with a rooster were considerate enough to put their chickens in a barn at night.
People at four-way stop signs who are just sooooo kind and selfless and full of good cheer that they insist that you go first, despite the fact that they were clearly there first and the law dictates they go first. AHHHHHHHH! I hate this with the passion of a thousand suns. No, asshole, you are not doing me any favors. You are disrupting the flow of traffic and just AHHHHHHHH. I think my reaction is slightly out of proportion but IDC. I hate these people. They are probably the type of people who walk around all day with a smile on their face. For no fucking reason. ALL-DAY.
I’ll just go with one that’s pretty irrational. It’s about posts on message boards. It drives me nuts when someone signs their posts. They will post, then type out something like, “Sincerely, Jonathan,” on every single post. It’s not a formal correspondence and your name is on the post, so it’s not necessary. Also, if you really need to do that then the signature feature is made for that purpose. I suspect that it’s a OCD thing (on their part) and I would never actually complain, but this thread did request pet peeves that are limited to each of us.
Oh I think that is a pet peeve that you share with lots of other board members. 
I seriously don’t understand it. The only way I can make sense of it is it being a form of trolling. The posters who sign their posts know it gets under the skin of a sizable section of the audience who reads them. Kinda like a non-political “Democrat Party”. So trivial that the person saying/posting it maintains a bit of plausible deniability because its SOOOO trivial and meaningless, geez, the only person with a problem here are the people who actually take offense to such a nothingburger.
Except I spoke with one of my sons tonight who is a chef at an upscale bestrow. He said while your explanation has merit it isn’t the true cause of “helicopter wait staff”.
Apparently back in the day management would push waiters and waitresses to do this as a form of impulse selling. Get the patron to order another cocktail or soda (back when refills weren’t free) or another appetizer or dessert when they wouldn’t have just ordered it without a nudge. Over the years customer attitudes evolved to where people feel if wait staff isn’t constantly around patrons feel like they are being ignored even when they don’t need anything from the wait staff. They just like to know they are there at their whim and constantly coming around asking questions assures this belief.
Along comes cranks like me who doesn’t want to be bugged by these nincompoops. More and more establishments, like my sons, are offering select tables with privacy curtains and wait staff alert pagers.
The only person in places like this who should be asking about how the food is should be the chef who should come out to the table approximately 2/3 of the way through your meal. If there is something truly wrong with anything patrons tend to notify waitstaff immediately without prompting.
All his words, not mine. But I’m eaten there and love the privacy the selected tables offer. Very intimate dinning.