One thing I continue to learn, despite the lies we tell children in Disney movies, is that hate is fun. I don't mean violent hate; I mean playful hate. We take a kind of sick pleasure in being pissed off by other people, even for the most ridiculous reasons.
When researching this article, nothing compared to that feeling of asking for someone's biggest pet peeve and finding those people after my own cold heart whose eyes light up immediately as they say, "Hold on. I've got a Google doc for this. Let me show you," or who trips over their words telling me how much they "don't like trays. Like, I just don't like the way people look when they're holding a tray I just strongly prefer against it."
Hate is an exercise in transforming those day-to-day annoyances into recognizable tropes so that we can find common ground with other people or show and tell them later for entertainment value. Hate feels like tweezing your eyebrows or popping a pimple: a kind of dwelling, painful cleansing process that has a peculiar underlying pleasure. We clutch our hates like comfort blankets. As arbitrary as they may be, they are soothingly familiar.
There are also different kinds of hate. There is annoyance at common breaches of etiquette, which were interestingly brought up only by women. Taja Braggs '11 expressed hatred for "when you hold the door open for someone, and they just slip right on by behind you as if they have no arms to grab the door for themselves, or like they think you're a human doorstop."
Eileen Vogl '12 expressed her disgust at "bathroom talk at the table. I really hate that. Like I'm sitting here trying to eat chili and you're going to talk about how someone booted all over their feet? I don't want to hear about that right now." Me neither, but thanks. Vogl is a member of The Dartmouth Business Staff.
I actually lied; one '12 boy did contribute an annoyance at a breach of etiquette: "When people put cigarettes out on cups in my room." I wonder how this happens often enough that it has become a pet peeve, but okay, I feel you. Do your part to prevent forest fires by smoking indoors (just kidding ORL, please don't fine me).
There is also irrational hatred, which is my favorite kind. Marian Mathias '11 couldn't stress enough how much she really, really hates adults in the backseats of cars ("It's just creepy") as well as when people say their least favorite word is "moist" ("Come on, that's everyone's least favorite word. Think of something else"), and people who say their eyes are gray ("THAT ISN'T AN EYE COLOR, F*CK YOU").
There is practical hatred, such as one '13 male's distaste for "when spliffs canoe," or Meredith Greenberg '11's hatred for "when you can't get onto your Blackboard on someone else's computer. That sucks." Maya Granit '11 hates "when it rains, and then the bottoms of your pants get wet, and it makes your socks wet, and then it stops raining and you have wet ankles for the rest of the day," while one passerby felt the need to chime in that his one and only pet peeve is the Sun God, because "he's the worst thing to ever happen to me." That isn't really practical, but then again it is.
Then there are those hilarious pet peeves that demand a rant, the ones that immediately strike you as true even if you've never considered them before, the ones people consciously develop and remember so they can pull them out like party tricks to seem cynically cool. Being funny at complaining is the grown-up version of knowing all the dirty words before everyone else in fourth grade.
Camilla Rothenberg '13 is well-versed in this kind of lighthearted bitching, adamantly explaining how much she hates drivers who "try to act like they're really cool because they have a car in Hanover, like they play their music really loud, they rev their engines like, you're driving five blocks. You're not proving anything to anyone. You're really not impressing a soul," and girls who wear too many trends: "You have the socks with the heels with the boyfriend pants with the oversized shirt with the belt with, like, your hair in a pouf. You're doing too much!"
Bill Calder '12 also had impressive expertise in ranting, becoming almost visibly enraged when talking about how much he hates "when people sniffle. Oh my God, I just want to punch them in the face. JUST BLOW YOUR NOSE. You need to blow your nose!" He also takes issue with careless speech: "I hate when people say on accident.' It's not on accident,' it's by accident! And Can I help who's next?' What does that even mean? It's not proper anything. Or the guy at the Hop when you're the only one in line and he like stares out into space and says Can I help someone?' Yes, you can help me. I'm the only one here."
Hate can be therapeutic, especially if you make sure not to take yourself too seriously in the meantime and only to hate inconsequential things just for the hell of it. Perhaps it's the entitlement of the average Dartmouth student that makes us so eager to create imaginary oppositional forces to our well-being, or perhaps even if we were all on our last dime we would still take the time to envision scenarios of ourselves stabbing that girl on the bus whose iPod is just loud enough that you can detect it yet still too quiet to make out any of the words. I hate that!
