Indignation(s) of March: It's the little things

That add up to a big annoyance

Welcome to the March 2024 edition of Indignation of the Month! This is a series where I explore the minor affronts to my existence; the tears to my daily “dignation” if you will.

In January, I found myself with a herniated disc. It hurt enough to warrant it being the indignation of February.

Something I took from a sign you can buy on Amazon. Edited with my legendary PowerPoint skills

In the spirit of the fresh coat of paint around here, we’re going to have a different format for this month. Instead of one big and indignant event, I’ll go through a bunch of small things that were annoying this month¹.

Hopefully, this will be entertaining for you.

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March Indignation #1: “I can’t do this anymore,” she screamed

And by this, I mean driving. And by she, I mean me.

My relationship with driving as a concept deserves its own long-form post. We have a transactional understanding: the car gets me to some places faster, and I have to accept that I must drive it for that to happen.

Driving gets me to places public transport doesn’t and is cheaper than Uber—all things that bring me some sense of contentment. But I hate driving. I am an anxious driver. I find the road an unfriendly and unintuitive place. I don’t understand why people make the decisions they make in their cars. I can’t believe people just calmly dissociate in a car and forget they are giant machines made of metal and full of explosive material. Also, our garage is a nightmare to get out of, and I have dented the car there more than once.

Driving is usually cheaper than flying to places. And I don’t value my time that highly. Usually.

So this month, we drove from Northern to Southern California. Because we cared not for the scenic route and wanted the fastest way to and from, we drove through the famed Central Valley.

Now look, I have no qualms with the Central Valley as a location. People will like to say that it is boring. But I don’t find it that way: the San Luis Reservoir was beautiful, and there were wildflower patches galore.

But driving down the 5² this time felt like I was atoning for some sin in purgatory.

There are two lanes in this section of highway: one for trucks (both big and small) and another for you to pass the trucks. That is the theory. What actually happens is that there are too many trucks on the truck lane and too many cars on the passing lane, rendering the bi-lane system useless. Driving behind the trucks will slow you down an annoying amount. Driving in the passing lane will give you the anxiety-provoking realization that you are just inches away from dying as someone speeds by you at 100mph. Here is a visual describing this situation:

My emotional journey is represented in emojis. Yes, that friendly smile is a passive-aggressive one.

Boy, I wish I could just drive and emotionally dissociate from the experience while listening to the thematically appropriate audiobook: Paved Paradise: How Parking Explains the World³.

But driving up/down the 5 for about 10hrs was not enjoyable. At some point, I had to lock my phone because the ETA kept getting higher and higher, and it just stressed me out. No amount of parking statistics could soothe me. So I grit my teeth and drove on through the fields of the Central Valley, my personal purgatory.

We should’ve gotten the flight. The therapy (and the gas) to get over that drive will be more expensive than the flight ticket.

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March Indignation #2: Wash and fold your own clothes

I knew I was an adult when certain things started playing an important part in my life. And when their lack represents a deterioration in my quality of life that is borderline disruptive. Like the presence of a dishwasher in my kitchen⁴. And having a washer and dryer, at the very least, in the building.

Our building’s washer and dryer want to be put out of their misery. And they expire frequently. Sometimes, with the clothes inside. After the washer was fixed last time we made laundry soup (see image below), the building admins raised the price by a quarter. It’s not a lot, but it hurts.

This month, the washer had the audacity to break again (without our clothes inside)

That time we made laundry soup

We are a once-a-week laundry household. It just needs to happen at that cadence. We could’ve gone to a laundromat, but I decided to treat ourselves and have our stuff sent to a “wash and fold” service.

How much can it cost?

I was so naive. I still have so much to learn, even as a laundry doing/tax-paying adult.

Turns out, that amount of wash and fold cost a lot. Like, “the price of one person going out to dinner at a nice place in a high-cost-of-living city”- lot.

When the clerk handed me the bill, my jaw hit the floor. But the clothes were already washed and folded, and I wasn’t going to make a scene. I was an uninformed consumer; this bill was my fault.

I collected my jaw from the floor, thanked the man with my words and money, and left.

Next time our washer fails, an inevitability, I’m going to a laundromat. Knowing that I’m not paying the cost of a nice meal in washing and folding will get me through. That and a good book.

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March Indignation #3: These “pancakes” I made

“Pancakes” I made for myself because I deserve nice things

What is pictured above is not scrambled eggs. They were my attempt at “treating myself⁵” one weekday morning and making some “pancakes” I had seen on Instagram.

I swear the carbohydrate material in the above picture was taken straight from the pan. It was not regurgitated by a cat, attacked by a treachery of ravens, or cut up by toddle with scissors. I scrapped that material, lacking in any structural integrity, from the pan to my plate. For me to eat and enjoy.

You would think that this happens to someone who makes pancakes just once, that they learn their lesson and do better. But not me. I have made pancake “hash” multiple times, and I don’t know what lesson I’m supposed to learn other than I seemingly can’t follow a recipe. How was I ever a scientist?

For what it’s worth, the pancake-hash did not taste as bad as it looked.

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I know March is not over, and there’s always an opportunity for more indignations, but I am manifesting a few days free of indignations. For you and yours.

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1. If you’re looking for something sweeter right now, there are other posts that might be more suited to that need.

2. For those non-Californians, that means Interstate Highway 5 that cuts through the center of California. Why we use “the X” to refer to highways can be best explained by this SNL skit series

3. or at least parts of Chicago and New York

4. Love you Shelly, you’re my rock girl

5. I’m sensing a theme here: I don’t know what I truly deserve.