I get frustrated pretty easily. I don’t stay mad for long, but little things really get to me. My friends even give me a hard time about it every now and then. Years of living with this trait have given me the ability to effectively mask it, but seriously, if this guy in the library picks up his phone one more time, I am going to leap from my chair and stab him through the jugular with my #2 pencil.
Why would something so simple make me so hostile? In my early years, I always just assumed I got so aggravated because this was my world, and you or whoever else was screwing up my day were seriously complicating it simply by being present. As time goes on, however, it has occurred to me I must learn to live with the imperfections of others, so instead of lashing out, I lash in.
That’s right. I have a war with an extremely exaggerated version of you in my mind that usually ends with me beating your face in with an iron frying pan. The jury is still out on how much long-term damage this is doing to my psyche, but for now, I am sticking with it. I couldn’t do jail. I would be bait, for sure.
Fortunately, I can explain, scientifically of course, why I want to literally rip that toboggan off of your head because, clearly, it is not toboggan weather. I have a single sticker (that is not my parking decal) on my car. I also have road rage.
The layman might say, “So what, Micah? These two things have no correlation.”
“Well, Mr. Layman,” I might say, “You are an idiot.” They do have a correlation. In fact, a study done in 2008 by a group of researchers at the University of Colorado found anyone with “territorial markers” such as personalized license plates, bumper stickers or any other kind of window decal is much more likely to get angry when you, I don’t know, drift into his or her lane because you are changing your precious Facebook status on your crack-berry.
Not only are they — “we” — more likely to get angry, we are also more likely to use our car to express that rage. This is because they — “we” (this is demoralizing) — think of our cars as an extension of ourselves.
So when one of you decides to speed up around us to try and make that exit, we might decide to speed up as well and run you into those garbage cans that are filled with concrete or water or whatever. You have invaded our space. We like our space.
And no, it doesn’t matter if your sticker says “COEXIST” or “WORLD PEACE.” By putting a sticker on your car, you have labeled it with a part of your “personality” and consider it a piece of you. It’s one of those “you mess with my car, I’ll kill you” kind of things.
This next scientifically-proven fact doesn’t explain why I dislike these people, but it explains why they do what they do. They work out.  A lot.
I know you have seen them around. The guys with the orange glow and bowling-ball-sized biceps.
Now, we are blessed in the South to have fewer of spray-tanned species, but the extra pumped-up species we can definitely identify.
These guys probably don’t know I dislike them, (probably because I would never, ever be ballsy enough to tell them) and hopefully they aren’t reading this; but in the slight chance they do happen to pick up today’s copy of The Reflectorand do decide to read this far into my article, then I suppose they have earned the right to at least know what is wrong with them.
Well guys, here is the thing: girls play with Barbie dolls when they are little, right? These incredible parental resources teach these young ladies important skills for succeeding in life, like being skinny and beautiful, owning a bitching bungalow and driving a pink convertible. Much in the same way, boys play with GI Joes or some weird ripoff. These incredibly buff action figures plant a seed in these impressionable boys’ minds that tells them they can never be ripped, shredded or toned quite enough.
Think I am kidding? It’s called Muscle Dysmorphia, but more commonly (and awesomely) referred to as “Bigorexia.” Yep. Not kidding. It is classified as a form of “reverse anorexia.” So where an anorexic would not eat and do coke, (of course not all anorexics do coke — just the models) a bigorexic would eat correctly and use muscle protein. Doesn’t seem like much to hate there, right?
Wrong. Their vein-ridden, bulging muscles make me want to vomit. So maybe, it’s not you I dislike; just your resemblance to a young Arnold Swarchenegger. So don’t feel bad.
Sorry, I just thought I would let you guys know. I really dislike valets too, most of them anyway. I am not tipping you for driving 400 feet, are you kidding me?
Micah Green is a junior majoring in communication. He can be contacted at [email protected].