Self-important drivers not wanted

And those are the same people (read previous post) who turn their ring on loud on the subway or in the grocery store so everybody can hear when their cellphone rings. As if they're so important they can't miss a phone call. And then they talk like they're at a Metalica concert as if somebody else gives a damn that their dog had to go to the vet. I think that if somebody wants to talk loud on the phone in a public place, others should feel free to add their input.
But those people are also the ones who do the one thing that really makes me want to tap dance on somebody's forehead. They creep up to the white line at a traffic light like it's the starting line at the Daytona 500. Are you kidding me? Are we racing? I'll answer that for you. No. Because races end up in the same place, and since I'm not going to the Asshole Convention we couldn't possibly be racing. Where the hell could you possibly be going that the quarter of a second you're saving by creeping up to the line really matters? Unless you've been shot, your wife is in labor or you're driving a getaway car, creeping to the line is unacceptable. Not wanting to miss the results show on American Idol is not an excuse. And your online Halo group will still be playing once you get home. They're not going anywhere. So don't patronize me by cutting me off and sticking up your hand in thanks. I didn't let you in—you muscled your way in. It's like breaking into somebody's house and leaving a note thanking them for all the cool stuff. Asshole.

Looking busy doesn't make you busy

I used to work at a place with two, maybe three, people that would run to the copy machine to get their documents from the printer. It didn't really frustrate me so much as it made me laugh. I can't stand self-important people. They're the same ones who act as if they can't take a breath lest they be buried helplessly beneath a pile of work. The people who get to work early, not necessarily to do work, but so they can tell everybody they were there first. Or the ones who stay late playing online Scrabble and Facbooking, trying to ride it out like they're working. That's until the boss leaves, whereupon they're out the door before his tires leave the pavement in the parking deck.
Those are the same kind of people who fast-walk to the copy machine. What's up with that? Where the hell are you going so fast? I guess walking double-time adds to their productivity by shaving useless seconds spent walking. I guess I'm supposed to think, Wow, they must be busy!? I can almost assure you if I asked them why they were in such a hurry they would say, "So much work," (too busy for complete sentences) with their Red Bull, Starbucks coffee or the newest herbal tea sloshing in their hand as they run. So busy the printer that does a gazillion sheets a second is too slow for them? You going to catch the printer taking a break? Now, don't get me wrong; there are times when you need to be running, just not everyday, and certainly not every couple of minutes. If you do it every day, it's like the little boy who cried wolf. People are sitting there thinking, yeah right, I don't believe you. Is it a game? Do you get extra points for a fast time?
It's a defense mechanism. If you're running to the copy machine you must be busy, right? But it doesn't really mater. Nobody believes you—much less cares. They think their drastically fast pace to the copy machine somehow equates to their station or importance at work. It doesn't. Running to the copy machine is not a proxy for effort. It's a proxy for douche-bag—like wearing too much cologne. You can be busy and not run to the copy machine. In fact, most people who aren't self-important do it regularly. I guess in the days of layoffs and the mortgage meltdown, actually working hard isn't enough anymore. People need to go that extra mile to prove their importance—to make themselves look better in the eyes of somebody. The thing is, the people they're trying to impress aren't stupid. They didn't get to where they are by thinking that the guy running to the copy machine is more important than the guy who walks there like a normal person. The shame of the matter is that the people they're trying to impress are probably too busy to notice.