Now I'm not one to rant (I'm not!), but on Friday I came across yet another reason why I'm convinced a portable death-ray should exists, and be purchasable from Dick Smith!

I had a meeting in the city. I parked my car, walked out onto the street, and started on my way to the clients office. Now, I was hoping to make it on time, so I put a little pep in my step, and got caught behind these two guys taking a little stroll.

No drama, I just waited for a moment while they moved to the side to let me pass...but alas, that moment simply didn't come. So I say, "Excuse me", with not even a hint of impatience or hostility, and they don't acknowledge me. Hmmm, ok, maybe I'm not audible over the noise of the street traffic, so I say it a little louder, clearly audible now, "Sorry mate". This time, only one of the guys looks back at me, pauses for the "Hey, can't you see I'm walking here" glare, then resumes, this time, even slower.

Ping! That's my public patience bell going off. So I tap the guy closest to me on the shoulder, who looks like he's borrowed his wife's replica Paris Hilton cum Stevie Wonder sunglasses (they're for women dude!!! For WOMEN!!! Just because Anthony Callea wears them does not make it OK!) and ask him if he would mind shifting to the side so I can get by. Before he can respond, his mate, pavement hog numero A quickly retorts, "What's your problem!?"

Well I have many at this point, not the least is his cringeworthy attempt to look like a Peter Morrissey (add 20 years, 10 kilos and a fake tan that looks like hepatitis), or the fact that for the past few metres I've had to listen to his mindless drivel that covered everything from his conviction that the office receptionist is poorly hiding her blatantly apparent desire for him to a recent car race he had with a P-plater who he "blew away"...

But I consider his question for a while, as it is a good one. What exactly is my problem? Well, mainly it's this new trend for people (mainly of the ilk of my two gentlemen friends above) to be too cool to walk fast. You see them everywhere. Crossing the road (ffs, when the little man goes green, it means walk, not gently meander like your picking flowers in the meadow!), at the shops (great idea, stop in the middle of a furious flow of consumer pedestrians to admire the sunrays beaming through the glass roof...!) or on the street (if they walk too fast, how can they possibly give justice to the story of how the cleaning lady is genuinely harboring romantic notions towards them to their colleague/friend, and what they intend to do about it?).

Instead I think it best to take this pause in their constitution to shoot past onto my meeting, hoping that while they walk slowly, engrossed in their conversation about an upcoming gym workout, that they are run over be the street sweeping machine coming down the next lane way!