Stop:

 . . . calling me to ask me how your customer service was.  Your customer service was a whole lot better before you forced me to take off my headphones, pause my playlist, close my laptop and set my coffee down to pick up the phone and deal with your pathetic neediness.  Before you called me I didn’t really care about you or your company. Now I kind of hate you.  

. . . looking like a cop car but being a sheriff.  It’s not fair.  I see your light rack on top of your car and waste a good two minutes driving the speed limit before I realize you’re a sheriff and not highway patrol.  I resent obeying the law for the benefit of peace officers who don’t even issue traffic tickets.  

. . . telling me you’re doing anything for my protection or my convenience.  No.  You’re not.  You’re actively annoying me.  How is that for my convenience?  In fact, let’s be blunt here, shall we?  You and I are natural enemies.  First off, you’re a robot while I am arguably human.  You’re a soulless, brainless automaton programmed to serve the needs of your corporate masters.  While I am only two of those things.

. . . pretending one vodka is any better than the next.  Scotch, bourbon, even gin can be clearly differentiated but vodka is all the same.  It’s all about the bottle with you people.  (Side note:  Moscow Marriott, room service sends up $50 worth of beluga.  It’s a ball the size of my fist. (And I have a big fist.) (Which is a perentheses inside a parentheses.) The point being that I don’t even remember the vodka.  (Which is often the problem. (He says, parenthetically.))  What do you think, one more “close parentheses?”)

. . . Oh, and if you are a cop no fair driving anything other than a Crown Vic.  Am I supposed to memorize every car silhouette?  How am I going to know you’re clocking me if you’re in a Pontiac?  So uncool.  

. . . answering online questions with, “I don’t know.”  See, here’s the thing:  if a guy goes to some message board and asks, “Does anyone here know how I can get cheese out of my camcorder?” answering “I don’t know,” isn’t really moving the ball forward, now is it?  Doesn’t matter what the question is, if you post it online the first answer is always, “I don’t know, but . . .”  (And the second answer is a spam link.)  Look, people, I know you don’t know.  I was hoping that other guy did. 

. . . with the “awesome.”

. . . pretending you read books when what you really read was just the New York Times Book Review’s review of the book.  Be honest, like me, and admit you didn’t even read the review but did watch How I Met Your Mother because you wished you could be Barney.

. . . dissing suburbia.  You know why so many people live in the suburbs?  Because they can have a garage three times the size of a Manhattan apartment.  And they throw the garage in free if you buy the house.

. . . saying “no worries.”  Guess what:  plenty of worries.  You have no worries?  None?  Do you qualify as sentient?  Have you turned on your TV lately?  Has someone been rooting around in your cerebrum with a red hot knitting needle?  If not, if your brain is functioning, then I’m going to guess you have some worries.  And if you don’t then by God I’ll give you some, starting with the fact that your tip is still in my pocket.  Now do you have worries?  Great.  Then bring me that iced tea.  And a vodka.