"Star Wars"

This is where you'll probably get offended.

Ever since marketing was proven to be an effective tool for selling a product, the approach has been to advertise the holy crap out of something until people are compelled to purchase that something. Yet, more often than not, that something isn't really even that great of a something. But eventually you fall prey to the marketing ploy usually for at least one of three reasons: (1) You were convinced into thinking the something was legitimately good. (2) You felt pressured into thinking the something was legitimately good. (3) You were hoping that purchasing the something would shut up the rampant marketing campaign. (Hint: #3 never works, trust me.)

Enter "Star Wars," stage left.

This trilogy was way ahead of its time in the realm of special effects, cinematography, and storytelling. So, agreed, it was interesting and entertaining. But, folks, let's be real here, it was a mammoth-budget, sci-fi B-movie trisected into three long installments for maximum bang. And because it contained more than a shred of fantasy and mysticism, it caught wildfire within the nerd community, catapulting lonely, socially awkward males within the age range of 9 to 52 from their blanket forts and the confines of their retired parents' basements, past the singles bars and real world jobs, into the streets with their Star Wars shirts, figurines, and plastic lightsabers.

That was "Star Wars'" downfall -- the empire that struck back, if you will. The nerds. Because they built more than an appreciation, more than a fan base -- they built a religion. Not a cult following, but an actual cult. A cult where Earth is simply another rock floating around in the heavens' battlefield and undying adoration lifts any saber-equipped human or otherwise hairy creature intolerant of "the dark side" into polytheistic idolism.

And then marketing took over and made sure you'd never forget about this trilogy.

Sure, the geeks and the ensuring marketing made it a massive success, but in doing so they ruined it for everyone else. Same issue with "The Lord of the Rings" or "The Matrix." These could all be great epics, but loners and the marketing that capitalizes on loners stifled any potential energy these cinematic works held. I now hate "Star Wars" because its marketing has inflated into sensory overload. The trilogy wasn't enough. Now it's ballooned into action figures, costumes, Legos, cereals, posters, video games, spin-off shows, spin-off cartoons, another trilogy, etc. etc. etc. Every month for the past 30+ years, it's something else with that confounded "Star Wars" logo on it. And it's only getting worse. I can't buy shampoo at Wal-Mart without being bombarded by "Star Wars" marketing.

Somewhere a Scientologist is probably burning a vigil or sacrificing a lamb to George Lucas right now.

Postal Service

I'm convinced there isn't a happy postal service worker in the world, certainly not in the United States. If there is, he's in the back of the post office somewhere sorting mail, away from the public eye, because I haven't bought a stamp from him. If you're thinking it would seem a bit backwards not putting your more amiable employees on the frontline, you're right -- but what's customer service to an operation whose business services can't be rejected by its customers? Sort of like the DMV -- or really any other government-run organization that we loathe but can't refuse. Postal service workers know we'll always have to mail crap, regardless of how advanced our technology grows, so why smile to bring us back when they know we'll be back anyway, satisfied or not?

This is why the post office harbors endless amounts of bitterness, resentment, and suicidal tendencies. There isn't a more depressing line to stand in (but, again, there’s the DMV). Look at everyone in there next time you pop in to say hello to your postmaster. The post office is everyone's chore, everyone's errand. No one's just "hanging out" at the post office -- not too many "No Loitering" signs around the building. No one is excited to be there -- they're mailing money for bills; they're sending gifts to and unfortunately for someone else; they're realizing that their final price isn't just a flat-rate shipping cost anymore -- it's $1.59 for mail insurance and $2.20 for a receipt upon delivery and $2.12 for a signature confirmation. Matter of fact, the only exciting noun in a post office is bubble wrap, but it's bundled and taped up in a box about to be shipped out.

And let's not forget the ultimate price gouging, the price gouging oil corporations, Starbucks, and Chick-fil-A's gallon of lemonade unanimously tip their hats to: all the different speeds you can select by which your mail can reach its destination. You can have that package on its recipient's doorstep by (A) tomorrow or (B) in about 14 business days. This kills me. Basically, the postal service knows it can get mail anywhere domestically in 48 hours or less, but if you want it mailed simply with lickable American flag stamps, the mailmen are purposefully letting it age in a mysterious mail delivery limbo. Yes, there is actually a caste system in the shipment of mail.

And here we are still confidently writing "Fragile" and "Do Not Bend" on our outgoing mail.

Elevators

Elisha Otis is often dubiously credited with inventing the elevator in the mid-19th century. Whether the actual inventor or simply a "practicalizer," Otis probably had no idea how awkward he just made everyone's business day. But what do you expect cramming a sealed chamber with various personalities and mannerisms?

Being cooped up in an elevator with a handful of strangers is so uncomfortably entertaining. What's about to take place during the ascension up floors is so predictable that it's hilarious. Have no doubt, you will have one or more of the following people: (1) someone clutching everything she owns for dear life right there as she stares abashedly at the floor from a corner of the elevator; (2) an "important" person sifting through absolutely nothing on his Blackberry in order to maintain said adjective of rank; (3) a fool continuing her phone call throughout the entire course of the ride as if she just walked into a soundproof pod separate from all other riders; (4) an older man whistling and playing with keys or loose change in his pockets; (5) a perpetual complainer who, when asked how his weekend was, un-wittily replies with a variation of "Not long enough"; (6) any of the above standing psychopathically close to you.

Those are the exceptions. The other folks are just staring dead ahead at the door, the floor, the changing numbers representing levels. You'll find me in this group. We're just pausing our lives, waiting to get off and continue on, hoping that the elevator experiences zero issues and that no one tries to make fake, breath-wasting conversation to pass time.

One way I entertain myself nearly every elevator ride is imagining, if this tin can got stuck in the shaft right now, which of my current fellow passengers would be the first to just snap and scream uncontrollably, lighting all the buttons with drum-rolling fists in desperation? I naturally like to single out the yacht club member in the Jos. A. Bank pinstripes. But I find that this usually requires very little imagination.

Discomfort and cheap entertainment aside, think about if we didn't have elevators. We would have no tall buildings, no skyscrapers -- just a bunch of two- and three-story buildings everywhere. Corporations would be spread out like college campuses, and cities would be 12 times the size for it. Which means more driving to get to your destination. Which means more gas and earlier wake-up calls. Which means tighter budgets and less sleep. All because of no elevator.

I guess the gains within that microcosm of gauche behaviors make it all worth it. Thanks, Otis.