My father's pet peeves

A long time ago, in a car ride far, far away, I once told my father that if I ever had my own column, that I would use (abuse) the power of the media and its infinite power for doing good, responsible things to tell the world about his pet peeves.

For some reason, it's never been something he's let me forget, and for some reason, it's something that always remained in the back of my mind. Probably because we're very similarly wired, and because, I often thought silently, if I ever had my own column, my father's quick wit in both official languages and its effect on me would be a big part of the reason I have this soapbox to stand on.

That's right, readers. It's his fault you're saddled with me.

My dad is an outgoing, gregarious guy with a way with words and a sense of humour that borders on the torturous. He likes to call me up at the office and mess with me, knowing full well that reporters are often at the mercy of the caller.

"Hello, I'd like to report a murder," he will say, breathlessly.

"Yes, sir," I say, scrambling to find a pen and jot down the information. "Where did this happen?"

"It's my feet," he'd say. "They're killing me."

Like I said – torturous.

But because reporters are notorious for their frugality, I thought the next present I could give my father for Father's Day was the stage he's never had but always wanted. It also doesn't cost a dime.

My dad. He's a salesman and life on the road is a big part of what he does, so naturally, my dad's first pet peeves is…er…how do I say this without insulting anyone?

Old men in hats

Here's the logic, according to my dad.

"On the road, everybody's trying to get somewhere in, ideally, the shortest amount of time. Not an old man in a hat."

These gentlemen are throwbacks to a bygone era, where a trip in the car was a treat unto itself, and the hat reminds them it's a leisurely trip, to be taken at a leisurely pace – almost always too leisurely a pace for my dad's taste. He's not a speed merchant who likes to play fast and loose with the rules of the road. He's just a guy whose hundreds of thousands of miles driven every week for the last 54 years* have attuned him to the sensibilities of the road and robbed him of some valuable patience.

(*represents an exact quote he gave us when after my sister and I started driving and decided to help him out by giving him driving tips like 'Dad, pick a lane and go with it,' as he chauffeured us around.)

Confusing pictographs on restaurant restrooms

Restaurants like to get cute with the restroom indicators, and this does not sit well with my father, who likes to consider himself and old-school kind of guy (except when it comes to old men in hats in front of him on the road, I guess), and when he walks to a restroom and has to spend more than 10 seconds deciphering the cartoon or crude chalk drawing on the door, he goes ballistic.

"What happened to the men's room and ladies' room signs? Is a little clarity too much to ask?"

No, Dad. No it isn't.

'Go for the gold' parkers

"You know those people who drive around the parking lot 52 times to find a spot that's six feet closer to the mall doors? Those people drive me nuts. Do you know how far six feet is? It's two steps! These people can't walk two extra steps? You've got to be kidding me!"

'Nuff said, I think.

Of course, the 'go-for-the-gold parkers' are not the only parking-lot miscreants that drive him up the wall. The worst offenders, as far as he's concerned, are the individuals who drive up and get out of the car and walk toward the building in perfect health.

Able-bodied handicapped parkers

No problem there, except these miscreants are parked in a handicapped parking spot for no other apparent reason except convenience.

"That's when I ask them if they are physically or mentally handicapped," he said.

It's not a popular question with those who get the question.

"I'm not cranky, it's just those are the things that set me off," he said.

And he's not. My dad is a patient, enthusiastic man whose love for his family has always been an inspiration and whose sacrifices on behalf of his kids were made without complaint and comment. Every tip he's ever given me has proved wildly successful and frankly, I'll be going to him for more as I continue to get older.

After all, as far as getting old goes, he's the expert.

Happy Father's Day, Pop. I hope it's a good one.