Revenge is a dish best served half-melted

Pet peeves. We all have them. Those annoying things that others do that burrow under our skin. Toss in a string of 100 plus degree days, and those little irritations turn into scorching rage.

All of my pet peeves take place when I am driving my scooter on Denver’s roadways. When the person in front of me is not pissing me off, slamming on her or his brakes to make a turn without signaling, I am cursing at the person on a cell phone as she or he attempts to plow over me and my Vespa.

But there is one thing that makes my blood boil the most – trash thrown out of cars.

As a little kid, I was taught not to be a litterbug. “Give a hoot, don’t pollute” said Woodsy the owl and his wise advice still plays in my head. “Keep America Beautiful” was plastered across every trashcan, into which I dutifully placed my candy wrappers. As a baby drag queen, I was merely following the rules. As my triple nipples burst forth in puberty, I realized keeping the world litter-free was more about respect – for the earth and for each other.

When you’re zooming down the street at 45 miles an hour, with nothing between you and the road but air, an empty soda can tossed out a car window can dent a forehead or two.

That’s when the revenge fantasies kick in. Maybe I could carry a sack of trash so at the next stoplight I could throw a few soda cans back in that open car window. Perhaps I could start carrying my blowgun on me for a few silent tire punctures. A bag of cigarette butts would be perfect for dumping into that smoker’s car ahead of me who thinks the world is their ashtray.

It’s always nice when you can actually turn your fantasies into reality. I make it a point to do that as often as I can.

Case in point. It was annoying enough when I came out of the local Queen Sooper’s to find a car idling in the fire lane. But when I walked past the car and an entire bag of fast food wrappers the size of a soccer ball landed at my feet, I’d had enough. Quicker than a forward at a Colorado Rapid’s game, I flung that greasy wad right back from where it came. I was unprepared for the shower of sparks that erupted from the lit cigarette dangling from the litterbug’s mouth. Apparently this soccer game included fireworks as a special bonus. Score!

I recently had another delicious litter-revenge moment. I was idling my scooter at a stoplight in the right lane when a big SUV pulled up on my left. The driver’s tinted window came down with a whirr. Usually when this happens, someone is lost and asking me for directions. Instead, a half-eaten ice cream bar came whizzing out, plopping just inches from my foot.

“Excuse me, but I do believe you dropped this,” I said to the overweight woman, grabbing the frozen treat by the wood handle and chucking it back into the car. I fully expected the melted dairy dessert to land somewhere in her car, making a mess. Instead, it stuck squarely to her cheek, sliding slowly down her face. The last thing I heard as I rode away was the sound of frantic screaming. Score!

I am sad to say that when it comes to pet peeves in the Nuclia household, I am the source of Mr. Waste’s biggest one – loud chewing.

What can I say? I like to crunch. Ice cubes. Rice crackers. Celery. Grape nuts. Carrots. Peanut brittle. Pork rinds. I like crunchy and I like noise.  It drives Mr. Waste bonkers. I can even raise the decibels on a watermelon or a chocolate bar. It’s a gift.

Luckily for me, our two new doggie additions, Puppy Waste One and Two, have me beat in the loud gnawing department. When they go to town on a Nylabone or plastic water bottle, they make me sound like a tongue-less nun at a hushing convention. Thank you, pups, for getting me off the hook. There’s a crunchy dog biscuit in your near future.