The Upgrade Zombies Are Among Us: Your “Just Asking” is Killing Basic Decency

Listen up, buttercup. That complimentary mint on your hotel pillow? Not a blood pact. Your “silver” status loyalty card that gets you 1% off stale airport coffee? Not a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s freebie factory. Yet everywhere we turn, the Upgrade Zombies shamble forth, palms outstretched, eyes glazed with the fervent, unshakeable belief that the universe owes them more.

Seriously? Since when did simply existing become grounds for a perpetual free upgrade? You booked an economy seat. You paid for a standard room. You ordered the damn house wine. The transaction is complete! The terms were clear! Yet before the metaphorical ink is dry, the wheedling begins. “Any chance of an upgrade?” delivered with that performative, hopeful lilt, as if they’re asking for directions to Narnia, not demanding unearned...

The Unbearable Loudness of Being: Funeral Selfies and the Theft of Sacred Silence

Let’s cut through the digital noise for a moment. We live documented lives. Sunsets, sandwiches, significant achievements – all filtered, framed, and flung into the void for validation. Most of it is harmless, occasionally even joyful. But then there’s that image. The one that scrapes against the raw nerve of human decency: the funeral selfie.

Seriously? Here? In this space heavy with unspeakable loss, thick with the scent of wilting flowers and muffled sobs, amidst the profound, aching vulnerability of grief… this is where you find the perfect backdrop? Where the instinct to capture yourself overpowers the fundamental human requirement to simply be present for others?

It’s not documentation. It’s desecration. Funerals exist in a fragile, sacred parenthesis outside the relentless churn of everyday life...

Seriously, Selfies at Funerals? What Fresh Hell Is This

Look. I get it. We document everything. Brunch? Snap. New haircut? Filter. Stubbed toe? Story it.

But a funeral?

Are we really this far gone? Have our collective attention spans and desperate need for validation truly eroded basic human decency to this degree?

Someone is dead. People are actively grieving, shattered, trying to hold themselves together in a space meant for mourning and remembrance. And your first instinct is to whip out your phone, angle it just right, maybe throw in a duck face or a peace sign next to the casket? “RIP Grandma, gonna miss u 💔 funeralvibes sadday”

No. Just… no.

What possible justification exists? “Aunt Helen would have wanted me to look cute!” Unlikely. “I need to remember this moment!” Trust me, the crushing weight of grief and the quiet dignity of shared sorrow will imprint itself without...

Why Is Everyone Suddenly a Food Critic?!

Seriously, when did everyone become a culinary expert? It used to be that food criticism was left to, you know, actual critics – people who’d dedicated time to understanding flavor profiles, cooking techniques, and the nuances of restaurant service. Now? Every Tom, Dick, and Harriet with an Instagram account and a half-eaten plate of avocado toast considers themselves qualified to dissect a chef’s life work.

I’m not saying you can’t have an opinion. Of course you can. But there’s a difference between saying “I didn’t like this dish” and tearing apart a restaurant with dramatic pronouncements about “lack of imagination” and “poor execution.” Did you even consider that maybe the chef was having an off night? Or that your palate is just… different?

The internet has amplified this phenomenon to an absurd degree. A blurry photo and a few hastily...

In a world brimming with convenience and ease, one act seems to epitomize the pinnacle of selfishness: double-parking in crowded lots. We have all experienced the frustration—driving in circles, scanning each row for an elusive open space, only to find one blocked by a driver who thinks they are the exception to every rule. Are we really that oblivious to the chaos we cause? Double-parking not only displays a sheer lack of consideration for fellow drivers but also highlights an alarming sense of entitlement.

Imagine, if you will, a packed shopping center parking lot. The air is thick with impatience as weary souls navigate the labyrinth of concrete. In the midst of this, there’s that car, parked sideways, pushing the boundaries of reason. It takes up two valuable spots, sending a ripple effect of annoyance through the line of cars behind it. While the thoughtless driver dashes into the...

“Don’t Follow the Flow”? Spare Me Your Dead Fish Philosophy

Stop. Just stop. Another LinkedIn guru posts this tired cliché—"Only dead fish go with the flow!“—as if they’ve cracked the code to human greatness. They frame it as rebellion, as wisdom, as a call to arms against mediocrity. It’s not. It’s lazy, arrogant nonsense peddled by people who’ve never fought a current in their lives.

First, biology check: Actual living fish follow flows daily. Salmon battle currents to spawn. Tuna ride ocean streams to hunt. Even goldfish circle thoughtfully in their bowls. The only fish drifting mindlessly? The dead ones. So congratulations—your mantra isn’t profound; it’s a literal description of carcasses. Want life advice from floating rot? Be my guest.

But the real insult? The hypocrisy. The same blowhards barking "don’t follow the flow!” are obsessed with trends. They chase viral...

People Who Say “Let’s Circle Back” in Every Meeting

We need to talk about the verbal parasites sucking the lifeblood out of productivity: the “Let’s Circle Back” brigade. You know them. You’ve sat across from them in soul-crushing Zoom calls or fluorescent-lit conference rooms. They deploy this hollow phrase like a linguistic shield against progress, a smug incantation to disguise their unpreparedness or indifference. It’s corporate cowardice masquerading as collaboration.

Here’s the truth: “Let’s circle back” is rarely about strategy. It’s a power play. It’s the sound of someone realizing they haven’t read the pre-read, understood the data, or formed a coherent thought. Instead of admitting, “I’m lost,” or “This is irrelevant,” they punt responsibility into the nebulous future with faux-professional flair. It’s a conversational cul-de-sac disguised as a scenic route.

Worse? It...

People Who Say “Correct Me If I’m Wrong” in Every Meeting

Let’s address the verbal tic masquerading as humility: the compulsive “Correct me if I’m wrong” crew. These meeting saboteurs deploy this phrase like a rhetorical sleight-of-hand—a false flag of openness disguising either arrogance, insecurity, or intellectual laziness. It’s not curiosity; it’s cowardice wrapped in corporate-speak.

Hear it once? Fine. But when every third sentence begins with this sanctimonious preamble, it’s psychological warfare. They’re not inviting correction—they’re preemptively inoculating themselves against accountability. If challenged, they retreat behind, “Well, I asked for feedback!” while subtly implying dissenters are pedantic bullies. It’s a power play disguised as politeness.

Worse, it derails momentum. Just as the conversation gains traction—BAM—we’re yanked into a performative detour to...

Why Everyone’s a Self-Proclaimed “Expert” on Social Media

Scroll for five minutes and you’ll witness an epidemic of arrogance: keyboard warriors morphing into overnight specialists in geopolitics, virology, nutrition, or quantum physics. One viral video, one cherry-picked article, one echo chamber affirmation — and suddenly, they’re lecturing the world with the smug certainty of a tenured professor. It’s a circus of confidence divorced entirely from competence.

What fuels this? The democratization of ignorance. Social media platforms reward loudness, not accuracy. Algorithms prioritize outrage, not nuance. A catchy hot take gains more traction than a peer-reviewed study. A slick graphic oversimplifying complex issues gets shared thousands of times while actual experts drown in the noise. The barrier to entry isn’t expertise — it’s audacity.

COVID was the dress rehearsal...

Why Do People Leave Shopping Carts in the Middle of Parking Lots

It’s a scene repeated daily: shopping carts abandoned like shipwrecks in parking lot seas, blocking spaces, scraping car doors, and creating hazards. Why does this happen? Laziness is the easy answer, but it’s rarely that simple. This small act of neglect reveals deeper threads in our social fabric.

For some, it’s pure thoughtlessness – a rushed distraction, kids in tow, or simply not registering the cart as their responsibility once paid. Others operate under the assumption that “it’s someone’s job” to collect them, outsourcing the effort without a second thought. The anonymity of the parking lot plays a role too; without direct social pressure, the incentive to do the right thing weakens. There’s also a subtle element of learned helplessness: “Everyone else does it, so why shouldn’t I?”

But the abandoned cart is more...