One of my favourite things about 30 Rock’s Liz Lemon is what a stickler she is for rules. When I saw the episode where she buys out a hot dog stand just to prevent a queue-jumper from being served, I laughed myself right off the couch. I can relate to this aspect of Liz Lemon. I too have a mostly irrational reverence for rules, even in cases where I understand how insignificant they are in the bigger picture. Like, when my roommate inevitably asks me what would be the most appropriate time to ask for an extension on his upcoming paper deadline, I am always screaming NEVER!!!! on the inside. I fully recognize that it is difficult to produce intellectual work to a deadline, and that is one of the many shortcomings of the academic system; and I also recognize that those dates are in place so that professors have enough time to finish their marking before grades have to be submitted. Nonetheless, my true objection isn’t rational; I object on a visceral level to missing deadlines simply because they’re deadlines and they’re meant to be followed.
My biggest pet peeve is when people park big cars in “small car only” parking spots. I get it, there’s nowhere else to park. But I don’t have any sympathy – either walk a few blocks or trade your big truck in for something smaller. When people park big cars in small car spots, I am overcome with the urge to kick them. Don’t they get that the small cars’ doors don’t have enough room to open beside them, if they even fit into the spot in the first place? The rule is in place for a reason, even if it’s not an earth-shattering one. I came to a parkade one night after a lovely time at the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra to find an extremely irate man pacing around my car. I had parked right in the middle of my “small car only” spot, meanwhile blocking him access to the driver’s side door of his big-ass SUV. I did it deliberately. When he yelled at me I self-righteously berated him for breaking the rules. I had to get out of there fast.
I’m probably going to meet my end at the hands of an angry SUV-driving redneck who just can’t handle my having haughtily told him his inconvenience was his own damn fault. That seems like an embarassing and pointless way to go, but I still maintain that those are the rules.
