Registering a Complaint

Suleika Jaouad is a wonderful author and artist, who has a terrific Substack, The Isolation Journals. Last week, along with Kate Bowler (another favorite of mine), Suleika wrote about the value of complaining. Both Jaouad and Bowler live with cancer, so I daresay those two are totally justified having a beef with the Universe. Complaining, they say, especially railing against something specific, focuses on what makes a daily difference. Is it worth complaining about, say, spilled milk? I’d say no. Just get some paper towels and clean it up. How about the horrible impulses that keep plunging mankind into wars? Of course, but that’s pretty broad.

Suleika and Kate suggest narrowing the scope of our gripes a bit, for maximum stress relief. So I decided to take a shot at it myself.

 

Helloooo, Universe?

 

Anybody there?

 

I’d like to register a complaint.

 

Oh, you’re just an assistant? Then can I speak to the manager, please?

 

She’s at lunch? It’s OK. I’ll wait.

 

Hello, Manager of the Universe? I have a bone or two to pick with you.

 

Why are certain jars and bottles IMPOSSIBLE TO OPEN? I’m talking those skinny glass jars of olives, those sealed-with-cement bottles of seltzer. Is this a joke on us consumers? Are manufacturers worried about the wrong person getting their hands on gherkins, and using them for nefarious purposes? In a birthday cake, maybe? 

 

I have told my computer (often, in vain), to stop inserting AI suggestions into my emails. I don't need Chat GPT to craft my response to a birthday party invitation. I can write “no gherkin cake, please” MYSELF.

 

Our car has an automatic feature that ever so briefly turns off the engine when you stop at a light, or are sitting in traffic for more than a nanosecond. I panic every single time, because I’m positive that the car has broken down. How much energy do you save with this fabulous innovation, anyway? It’s ridiculous. It’s…

 

Hold on.

 

My husband just told me there’s a button you can push on the side of the steering wheel, to disable the shutoff.

 

Never mind.

 

Why do I brush with an electronic toothbrush daily, and floss (periodically), and my dentist still scolds me? Have I missed the latest oral hygiene necessity? Do I need to use sunscreen on my choppers now, or furniture polish? They’re TEETH, for Heaven’s sake. Stop moving the goalposts!

 

And while I’m at it, I really don’t appreciate trying to peel the price sticker off a gift I’m giving, only to have a sticky messy residue remain on the box. Must I leave it on, alerting my recipient to the FINAL SALE cost of the item I’m bestowing?

 

Seriously, though…

 

With the world’s major problems looming ever larger these days, there’s something to be said for complaining about the petty annoyances too. By opening the valve on our inner pressure cookers ever so slightly, we can let off a little steam. And that’s good for everybody.

 

Kvetch on, my friends!

I mean, what are the pickle makers afraid of?
(photo by Polina Tarkilevitch on Pexels)