Ashley Gearheart: First world problems
The other day after a tough workout, a couple friends and I headed over to the Student Union to grab some salads from Croutons for dinner. We were greeted by a sign informing us that, due to some equipment malfunction, the salad joint was temporarily closed.
Our immediate reactions included frustration and comments like, “equipment malfunction? They make salads, what do they even need equipment for?” and “this is ridiculous. They aren’t supposed to close until seven. I don’t care what the reason is.”
In retrospect, I guess that it was actually pretty dumb to suggest that there couldn’t have possibly been any kind of malfunction, just because the company makes salads. For all I know, their coolers could’ve broken down, or maybe the computer system randomly stopped accepting Rocket Cards. It really wasn’t much of a setback for us; we walked a few more minutes over to Ottawa and ate dinner there, and even though it wasn’t the salad we’d been craving, the amount of complaining we did was completely unnecessary, since Croutons was back up and running the next afternoon.
I realized, after a little soul-searching, that my over-dramatic outrage at the closure of Crouton’s isn’t an isolated event. I’m irritated when I have to wait twenty minutes to get my Starbucks in the morning; I’m annoyed when I’m stuck walking behind someone that’s moving way slower than I think they should be; I’m frustrated when I have to wait an entire week to find out a test grade; I’m infuriated when it takes more than a few seconds to connect to the Wi-Fi; I’m angry when the pizza guy doesn’t show up exactly when he said he would. The list doesn’t even stop there — I could easily rattle off a dozen more ludicrous instances that just drive me up the wall.
Here’s the self-diagnosis I’ve come up with: I suffer from a severe case of First World Problems. “First World Problems,” in case you’ve never seen the “#FirstWorldProbs” tweets, encompass just about every single one of the complaints you and I make on a daily basis. They’re things that show just how unappreciative we are compared to those in underdeveloped third-world countries. (And honestly, if you think about how ridiculous the complaints actually are, they’re pretty amusing.)
Now, I don’t want to get too preachy, but I think it’s important to take a moment and consider this: why is it acceptable—perfectly normal, even—for me to whine about an hour-long wait for pizza when there are probably people within a couple blocks of me who can’t even afford a meal? Even crazier is the fact that I’ve got apples, granola bars, Easy Mac and plenty of other food sitting just a few feet away from me. And still, I’m just not happy until I’ve got a steaming-hot pepperoni pizza in my hands. It’s totally illogical, but that’s how I work.
As much as I’d love to say that I’m never going to complain again and that I’m going to become the most patient person on campus, realistically, I know that the most I can expect is a slight decline in the number of complaints I vocally express… if that. I really wouldn’t expect much of anyone else, either. I know what it’s like going into a Monday morning on next to no sleep preparing to face four back-to-back classes. Not being irritated with the Starbucks line, slow walkers, the cold and the rain, the long walk just to get to class and basically everything is pretty much impossible.
The fact that we have so many stupid little things to complain about is actually really cool, if you think about it, because it means we’ve been blessed with more than enough, but it also means that we tend to take advantage of what we have. In the process of writing this, I’ve silently complained to myself that I’m hungry, I’m cold and that my computer screen is way too bright for my dark dorm room. I wish this wasn’t the case — nobody likes their flaws to become blatantly obvious — but complaining is practically second nature to me.
Perhaps the only way to combat this awful case of First World Problems is to take a step back and remind myself daily of a few things I can’t complain about: my amazing, supportive friends and family, the fact that I’m able to attend college, always having enough to eat, owning a car that gets me where I need to go (even if it is always on the verge of breaking down), and so on. Some people aren’t so lucky.
Ashley Gearheart is a first-year majoring in international business.
