– A mullet is not an acceptable hairstyle north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Please get thee to a fucking salon.
– Oui is pronounced ‘wee’, not ‘way’. You all sound like ducks. You claim to speak French, but you speak Quebecois. It’s an ugly language.
– Potholes happen. I’m not sure where this group phobia comes from, but you are all terrified to drive through them. You swerve, you brake, you slow down to 2 km/hour to avoid them. You all drive shitty cars, why are you slowing down as though you are terrified to hurt them? You’re in a 1993 Toyota…..GO! You can’t hurt it, it’s already dead.
– Speaking of driving, I can guarantee you that your car goes faster than 40 km/hour. You wouldn’t know that, since none of you ever drive any faster than that, even on roads with a limit of 80, but I assure you it does. You should try it out sometime. It will save me having to kill you, and/or me giving myself a stroke due to the rapid increase of blood pressure I experience every time I drive behind one of you at 40, as we pass a speed limit sign stating 70 km/hr.
– Cashiers don’t care about your life story. Stop speaking. Pay them, and leave. Why you all insist on telling everyone everything that has happened to you today and your thoughts on all of those occurrences is beyond me, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop. I don’t want to spend my day waiting in line behind you.
– Why does every english sign have a french counterpart, but not every french sign has an english counterpart? Why??
– Stop complaining about ‘downtown traffic’. Just. Stop. You know not of what you speak.
– You have a really messed up idea about what a bus stop is. It is a sign erected on a street, indicating to potential bus riders that if they stand there, the bus will stop and allow them to board. In Ottawa though, it’s just a sign. The bus drivers may or may not heed the whole ‘stopping’ part. I should NOT have to flag you down like a fucking taxi just to get you to stop. It’s a bus stop. STOP.
– Why are you all so directionally disabled? When I give you the address of my workplace for your appointment, that should be the end of the convo. But you ask for detailed directions. You ask where parking is. You ask what the inside of the lobby looks like so that you’ll know you’re in the right place. It’s called Google Maps, you idiots! Or, failing that, a phonebook. They have maps. FIGURE IT OUT. I hate hate hate taking 10 minutes to explain directions to you, then having you call later from your cell, all confused cuz you weren’t even fucking listening.
– I will give you credit for one thing: I really love your readily accessible poutine. It’s everywhere. And even though I rarely partake in it, I like knowing it’s there if I ever need it.
That’s all. If you could just please stop telling me that Ottawa will grow on me, that’d be great. You know what else ‘grows on you’? Fungus. Mmmmhmmmmm. Think about it.