- When someone uses an acronym or abbreviation awkwardly with regard to plurality or redundancy.
- Eg, “RBIs”, which expands to “runs batted ins—” a double plural!
- “VIN number,” which expands to “vehicle identification number number—” truly ridiculous!
It seems like a particularly bourgeoisie phenomenon to have a “pet peeve.” It was first used, apparently, in 1919. That year, with the passing of the 18th Amendment, Prohibition began its dreary reign. The Grand Canyon was established by Congress as a US National Park. The Black Sox brought disgrace to baseball. And World War I officially ended. There were things to be content with, things to be mildly annoyed with, and things to that were atrocious. The phrase “pet peeve” fails to describe any of these things.
I have another, recursive kind of pet peeve, which is when a person uses the phrase “pet peeve.” For who favors (the literal meaning of “pet,” here) his minor dislikes? Who cultivates and extends the longevity (the figurative meaning of “pet” that occurs to me—as if one’s peeves were like Tamagotchi to be fed and played with) of his slight detestations? Not to get very Internety, here, but aren’t all pet peeves a kind of white whine? That is, a kind of annoyance that exists solely by virtue of one’s already-privileged position. Not that the privileged don’t suffer. But maybe they should shut up about it and let everyone else catch up a bit.
“PIN number” is another one of those.
Enter your PIN number at the ATM machine
So I’ve been taking the LIRR in to hanmattan a lot recently, posing a dilemma… do I leave from the Bellmore or Mineola station? I’ll take a page out of the jonsense playbook (el libro del jugar de juansensio for you mexicans out there)…
-Parking is free
-Closer to my apartment
-A 10-trip off-peak pass is $8 more from zone 7
-Have to wait around Penn Station for 45 minutes waiting for train home
-Zone 4 all the baby, save almost a whole dollar per trip
-Prompt departure from Penn so I can start staying up all night doing nothing at 2 instead of 2:45
-Parking is a whopping $5… five fucking dollars… what kind of Jews run this place anyway?
-Foither away from home
Ah, but this is where I drag out the ol’ scheming hat… Because Mineola’s garage is by space number I can just park on the lower levels where poor shmucks in the morning paid for and left before their daily parking limit had expired. On top of that the fine for not paying the troll toll is $15 bucks… which is in effect $10 because well you didn’t pay the other $5 in the first place. So even if I get a ticket one day a week but the other 4 days I dont I still come out ahead, and mind you I’m saving money in the foist place. And so far no tickets.
Sound exciting? I thought not… but these are the tools of amusement when the doldrums of your day last from the moment you wake up to the moment you pass out on your black pleather couch blind stinking drunk off gin at 6am.
For the record, if you happen to work for the MTA… I drive a 2009 Nissan Cube with the license plate 420-POT
Kiss my black ass