Originally published June 6, 2025

   You know what grinds my gears? When we finally get one of those rare, beautiful moments where we get to watch a movie in class—no notes, no quizzes, just chill—and some people absolutely cannot handle it. 

   Like, seriously, we’re watching a movie, not running a marathon. So why are there five people suddenly raising their hands like it's an Olympic sport to ask, "Can I go to the bathroom?" You just got back from lunch!

   Then there's the nonstop commentary. Why are you talking to the screen like the characters can hear you? It’s not “Dora the Explorer,” and no, the villain does not care what you think of his outfit. Can you say “silencio”? 

   Meanwhile, someone’s whispering jokes to their friend or blurting out Italian Brainrot memes, like they’re the next stand-up comic or TikTok sludge creator—wake up: you’re not funny, Brogan. 

   And don’t get me started on the Chromebook gamers. You're not slick. We all see the Minecraft tab. And yes, we can hear the clicky keys, Brodyn.  At least you’re not trying to set a fire to your Chromebook, you inventor. This is why your teachers give you packets, yo.

   Plus, the sneaky AirPods under the hoodie? You look like a tech support at T-Mobile with Wi-Fi issues, trying to sneak past preschool rules. It’s a movie, not your personal side quest or nap simulator. Maybe these distractions are the reason you’re on single-digit multiplication sections in IXL. Take a break from your King Von, bruh.

   Just sit still, enjoy the film, and let us have peace for once.
   And that’s what grinds my gears.

   You know what grinds my gears? When I give clear, simple directions — spoken and written on the board — and ten seconds later, a hand shoots up: “Wait… what are we doing?”

   Seriously? I just explained it. With words. Out loud. To your face. I even made eye contact with half the class while doing it! Sometimes I even draw diagrams or act it out like I'm auditioning for a Broadway show called Science: The Lab Instructions Musical — and still, someone asks, “Do we need to write this down?”

   Yes. Yes, you do. We’re in science class, not nap club. We use pencils. We write things. We do experiments. It’s kind of the whole deal.

   And don’t get me started on, “Is this for a grade?” No, I just stayed up planning this lesson for fun — to fill the silence between your sighs and snack requests.

   I’m beginning to think I should hire a skywriter or start projecting the directions onto the moon. Maybe then, just maybe, someone would catch on the first time.

   So listen up: directions aren’t riddles. They’re the map to success. Use them. Trust them. Actually hear them.

   And that is what grinds my gears.

   You know what grinds my gears? The knock-off Crocs that some kids are wearing these days.   

   Let’s set aside the questionable moral implications of certain apparel and how they might fund someone’s downward spiral in mental health. 

   Let me begin with the design flaws. The design is just a riff on the OG croc. All they do to make these “shoes” is to microwave a perfectly amazing croc and hang it out to drip dry. They are literally cooked, they fried, they busted. The design is literally made by a self-proclaimed college dropout. Why would you pay more for a shoe that can not hold chicken jockey jibbitz on them?

   Now, if you are just looking for a shoe that has a sole, you should be looking for a totally different shoe style. But if you are looking for a shoe that has got fame and is culturally relevant, the Croc has got that on lock! Crocs have a whole movie where they are on every foot, knock-offs are all just Idiocracy!

CROC = GOAT 

And that’s what grinds my gears.

   You know what grinds my gears? Gum in school. 

   Not just the fossilized blobs under desks — though those are basically war crimes — but the students who think they’re sneaky about chewing it. They slip gum into their mouths like they’re part of some undercover operation, but then chew like cows grazing in a sunlit meadow. 

   Slow. Loud. Rhythmic. Chomp-chomp-chomp. It’s less secret agent, more like a barnyard.

   And when they get caught? The dramatic swallow. Eyes wide, throat working overtime, followed by the classic, “Gum? Me? Nooo…” Meanwhile, their jaws are still twitching like a guilty party in an interrogation room.

   Then there are the under-desk gum sculptors. Artists of the absurd, preserving their half-chewed masterpieces for future generations — or just for your unsuspecting hand to find while reaching for a dropped pen. It’s not a desk anymore; it’s a sticky museum of regret.

   And of course, the final betrayal…stepping in gum. One moment you’re walking with dignity, the next you’re doing the limp-shuffle of someone who’s just fused with the floor. Scraping it off like you’re peeling a curse from your sole, all because someone decided the hallway was an appropriate dumping ground.

   Forget outdated textbooks or broken lockers — apparently, gum is the real chaos engine of the education system. And somehow, we just let it happen. No staff input, no decision making… Day after day. Stick after stick.

   And that is what grinds my gears.

   You know what grinds my gears? When people treat group projects like optional side quests instead of actual responsibilities. 

   You know the type—silent in the group chat, mysteriously unavailable during planning, and then magically reappears at presentation time like, “Hey guys, what slide am I reading?” You’re reading the room, Chad—and it’s disappointed.

   And let’s not even get started on the ones who say “I’ll do the conclusion” like it’s some noble act of leadership. No. The conclusion is not your redemption arc. It’s the cherry on the sundae, not the entire dessert.

  Meanwhile, the rest of us are juggling research, design, and making sure the font isn’t Comic Sans.

   It’s 2025—how are we still pretending the “I didn’t see the message” excuse works when our phones are practically glued to our hands like an extra limb?

    Group projects are supposed to build teamwork, not teach me advanced conflict resolution and passive-aggressive communication skills I should be charging for.

   So here’s a wild idea: if you’re in a group, act like you’re in the group. Contribute. Communicate. Actually care. 

   Otherwise, don’t be surprised when you’re voted off the island… or at least off the shared Google Doc.

   And that’s what grinds my gears.