01. when you buy a jar of pickles only to open it and discover that they aren’t crisp with that satisfying salty-vinegary taste you wanted.
02. when you get a meatball hero and the meatballs are soft and bland instead of hearty and meaty. and when the meatballs are so big as to be unmanageable, thus also throwing off the proper ratio of meatballs to cheese and sauce. (the best meatball sub i’ve had is still from north beach, san francisco.) (as well as the best focaccia.) (i miss san francisco; it’s been a while since i’ve been.)
03. when you pick up a book you were excited for but it’s like the author’s only telling you a series of events and happenings instead of digging into the wonderful tension and conflict and anxiety that’s sitting right there for the taking. the novel (as a narrative form) lets you burrow into people’s heads and delve into the overwrought neuroses all people have in their own unique ways, so it’s quite disappointing when there are these delicious treasure troves of [what is essentially] panic just waiting to be exploited, only to go unexplored and altogether avoided. sigh. i’d rather hate a book than be disappointed by it.