Shoving people out of my way, throwing food at waiters, etc…

Every day is an exercise in self control. So many wants left unfulfilled. I wish I could just do whatever I desire all the time. I come close, but life’s a series of compromises. Even for me.

Maybe one day I’ll get lucky.

Get rich, do whatever the fuck I want all the time. In the meantime I can only dream. Write about my frustrations. Get a kick out of people reading them. Maybe relating?

Here’s a few things I refrain from doing only because I can’t get away with them.

Shove people out of my way: It’s a tourist thing, that bewildered ambling unaware of your surroundings. I’m sure I do it too whenever I’m in a new place.

Doesn’t make it any easier to bear when I’m trying to get my shopping done and a family of pasty Midwesterners is stopped dead in the center of the aisle staring at the bread rack like they’ve never a fucking bagel before.

It’d be tits if I could just barrel through them. Push ’em aside. Make way! Here comes Rory!

Or last night, at Safeway, the elderly couple arguing about prices. Yeah, shit’s expensive out here. Get over it. Get the fuck out of my way. The urge to ram ’em with my cart was near unbearable.

Honk my horn more often: Drivers rarely honk their horns in Hawaii, and almost never in anger. It just isn’t done. I like it, can’t stand the hellish cacophony whenever I’m forced to travel back to LA.

But lately, I’ve had an urge to lay on the thing whenever I’m stopped at a light or crosswalk and someone is walking in front of my car.

I used to do it all the time to the mobs of Japanese tourists who cross Kam Hwy like gaggles of halfwit geese. Wave ’em through, then lay on the horn and cackle madly when they’d jump. But Kauai is tiny, can’t pull that type of shit anymore. It’s super awkward when you run into the same hapless stranger you hassled earlier in the day for no reason at all.

Ban certain people from the beach: We’ve all got the right to play in the ocean. I won’t argue about that.

But some people…

Watched a Mormon family invade the lineup recently. How could I tell they were Mo-mos? Mom, Dad, plus seven kids. All blonde haired, straight white teeth, milky skin. Looked like they’d never touched an illicit substance in their lives. Real pack of degenerates.

Every one with a rental log, all rocking matching life vests. Wide open beach to play on, picked the one area full of swimmers and struggled a few feet out. Took turns barreling through the inside. Total carnage.

Amusing, for sure. But crazy dangerous. A pack of fools that demonstrated why so many damn visitors die out here.

Throw my meal at a waiter: We ate lunch at an overpriced restaurant in Kapa’a a few days ago. It’s a place my wife has been hassling me to visit for months. Cute décor, overly complicated menu. Her type of joint.

I ordered a $17 burger, expensive by even our ridiculous standards. She got the ono sandwich. Both were terrible. Overcooked, under seasoned. Wilted lettuce, their “artisanal buns” were the same ones I buy at Costco. The fries were good.

The waitress came to check on us. Asked, “How’s everything?”

I wanted nothing more than to heave my plate in her stupid face. Scream, “It’s fucking terrible,” and bounce without paying.

Instead I choked my meal down. Tipped poorly. Then complained the entire way home.