Fists of rage

Often in life, it’s the little things that get the best of us–the guy who cuts us off in traffic, spilling precious morning coffee on your work clothes just before an important meeting, the mailman who takes the envelope clearly marked “do not bend” and folds it in half before shoving it in the mail slot.  There are countless times throughout my day, as I am sure there are in yours, that I literally shake my fist in the air in frustration. 

One such time occurred last week when Kevin arrived home to find not one, but TWO plastic bags of phone books on our front porch.  Not a big deal, you say?  True.  However, we have  a stack of unused phonebooks hip high in our office upstairs.  Unused because we have been blessed with the internets, of course!  So, imagine our excitement to have 6 more phone books to add to the collection.  Yay.  Even better than that, when we arrived home the next day…there was a THIRD bag of phone books on our porch.  This threw my usually mild mannered husband into a tailspin, as most minor annoyances tend to do to us all. Upon contacting the phone company, he was told that they refused to come pick up the phone books because “there weren’t enough of them to warrant a pick up”.  What the what indeed?

I was relaying all of this petty annoyance to a dear friend at work that shares my rage at the most mundane of things.  Mostly, we were discussing ways to repurpose the phone books (because that would be sooooo much easier than just taking them to a phone book recycling place, right?!).  Ideas included fashioning them into furniture or using them for kindling (we do have a wood burning fireplace AND a patio fire bowl, you know).  Then it struck me.  What if I fashioned a huge shaking fist out of the pages from the phonebook and made it an art installation in my front yard?  Would passers-by immediately identify with the fist shaking and see it as a symbol of their own rage?  A beacon of their own petty frustrations? 

So dear friends, looks like BOTB will be taking phone book donations beginning now. 

I’m only half kidding…


3 thoughts on “Fists of rage

  1. I'd burn them. Though yesterday when I was going to need to call a plumber, I kind of wanted one. Going on the internet just seemed like a pain.

  2. LOVE the shaking fist idea.

    I do miss the tree hugging mentality of Portland where one could opt-in to get a phone book.

    Start a fire and make s'mores.

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