The Petco at Kips Bay has the slowest checkout line in the known universe. I could be the only person in line and it would still take twenty minutes to get through.

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Why on earth would you walk briskly up the escaltor on the left-hand side, just the way custom dictates in our country, and then stop dead and ride off the last four steps to the top?! Come on, lame-o, there are people behind you, and you don't have brakelights.

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Don't bug me about secondhand smoke or anything like that. The big problem I have with smokers is that they are almost invariably litterers. What smoker finishes a butt on the street and then looks around diligently for an ashcan in which to stub it out? No, he'll just toss it on the sidewalk—perhaps grinding it out with his heel or toe, if he is a particularly conscientious smoker.

Yeah, I'm the guy who can't walk past a burning discarded cigarette butt without stepping on it. Yes, the compulsion is entirely my own problem. But I'm not the bastard lighting it on fire and rolling it down the street in the first place.