Intolerance Fatigue: Why Even Our Grudges Need a Break

The other day, I was strolling through the park, doing my usual laps as a part of my attempt to stave off the inevitable demise of my back and joints. As I passed an elderly gentleman—who, let’s be honest, had more seniority in both age and grumpiness than I do—I gave him a friendly nod, as one does when you realize that your hairline is retreating faster than his.

“What a beautiful day!” I said, channeling the kind of chipper enthusiasm that only people who haven’t checked their bank accounts yet can summon.

He turned to me with a stiff neck—I’m guessing the arthritis was pulling some serious overtime that day—and muttered in that tone only elderly people can pull off: “Yes, indeed!” Then, as though he were about to unload a scandalous confession, he added, “Those dumb-ass weather people in Seattle said it was going to rain here today.”

Now, at first, I thought maybe the guy had a personal vendetta against Seattle. Maybe he’d had some bad fish there once, or perhaps an unfortunate experience at Pike Place Market. But no, he wasn’t mad at the city. He was mad at the weathermen. Seattle, for those geographically challenged, is over a hundred miles away from where we stood. Weather—and I’m just putting this out there—can vary. But this guy? He was ready to wage war on the entire meteorological establishment for one bad prediction. Why? Because—of course—nothing ever goes right in the world, and even the weather must be in on the conspiracy.

Now, I’ve got to admit, I was tempted to offer a “Hey, just enjoy the sunshine, grandpa,” but that would have been too simple. Instead, I walked away, amused that this guy—like so many of us—had locked into a life strategy of finding something to be mad about, no matter how insignificant.

It got me thinking. I was sitting at home later, sipping on my flavored water (yes, I’m a sophisticated man), and browsing through Amazon reviews. I was looking for a nice variety pack to stock up on my hydration needs, and of course, that meant reading through hundreds of reviews to see if I was about to be duped by a lousy batch of lemon-lime. I read through it all and noticed something alarming: people today are intolerant of absolutely everything. And I mean everything. We’re talking everything from products to entire cities to—let’s face it—our very existence.

One review popped up, “We bought two cases of the variety packs. We liked it all except the black cherry. It was undrinkable. If I could give this 0 stars, I would.”

Oh, really? Undrinkable? The black cherry made you so physically sick that you felt compelled to destroy the product on an international retail platform? Look, I get it. Maybe you’re not a fan of the flavor. But let’s dial it down, Karen—there’s a reason the world doesn’t revolve around your taste buds. One star for a flavor you don’t like? Come on. If anything deserves 0 stars, it’s your inability to accept that things—people, products, life—aren’t always going to be exactly what you want.

Then there was this delightfully absurd review: “One star because the delivery driver left my package to the left of the door, not the right.”

And here we are, folks. The world is falling apart, and the biggest crime we can commit is placing a box slightly off-center from a front door. The horror! The injustice! I’m seriously waiting for a Netflix documentary about this tragedy. Imagine the scenes: a neighborhood divided, a feud over placement, slow-motion shots of Amazon vans speeding past, as haunting music plays.

The point is: this intolerance, this ever-expanding list of things to hate, is everywhere. It used to be that intolerance had a direction. You hated people who were different from you: different nationalities, different religions, different ways of thinking. Was it dumb? Sure, but at least it was focused. At least you could have a good argument about it. Now? Now we’ve completely lost the plot. We’re intolerant of everything. And I mean everything.

And it’s not just politicians—oh no, it’s everywhere. Take driving, for instance. If someone’s going slower than me, I’m convinced they’re a traffic turtle clogging up the road for sport. If they’re speeding past me? Clearly, they’re a speed demon with a death wish. And if they’re driving at the exact same pace as me? Well, then they must be silently judging my life choices and wondering why my bumper stickers look like a midlife crisis in progress.

It doesn’t end there. At work, it’s no better. If you’re doing your job worse than me, you’re a bumbling buffoon who couldn’t find your way out of a cardboard box. If you’re doing it better than me? Oh, well, now you’re just a glory-hogging show-off who needs a new hobby. And if you’re doing it exactly like I do? Well, now you’re definitely trying to steal my thunder. What’s your play here?

This is where we are now—trapped in a never-ending cycle of micro-aggressions and daily outrage, convinced that everyone around us is out to personally inconvenience our existence. Gone are the days when we saved our grievances for something meaningful. Now, we’ve all turned into overcaffeinated watchdogs of minor infractions, ready to go to war over an incorrectly placed Amazon package or an unwanted black cherry seltzer. And the worst part? The only thing we seem to hate more than everything else… is the people who don’t seem to hate anything at all.

And the worst part? It’s like everyone has decided to wear intolerance like a badge of honor. It’s become a competitive sport to see who can hate more things in a day. I get it, though. It’s easy. It’s satisfying. It takes zero effort. You can just wake up, check your social media, and boom—there’s something new to be mad about. If you don’t have something to complain about, are you even living in 2025?

But here’s the kicker. It’s not just the things you hate that are problematic. It’s who you hate. The worst offenders? The people who are tolerant. The ones who still believe that, I don’t know, maybe we should try to get along? They’re the real villains now. Oh, sure, you might try to be reasonable, make a kind gesture, offer an olive branch, but in the age of outrage, that’s basically like inviting a raccoon into your house for dinner. You’ll get a whole lot of mess, and no one’s going to thank you for it.

So, how did this happen? Well, the answer’s simple. It wasn’t social media, cancel culture, or even the election cycles. No, it all traces back to the ancient, primal force that drives humanity: sex.

Back in the “good old days” when dinosaurs roamed the earth, we had marriage. Now, don’t get me wrong. Marriage wasn’t about love or equality. It wasn’t about anything noble. It was about survival. It was about taking all your frustration with the world and dumping it onto your spouse, who had no choice but to suck it up. Men would huddle with their buddies to gripe about the old ball and chain: “She wants me to come home early because her parents are coming over! What’s up with that?” Women, meanwhile, would meet at Tupperware parties and trade war stories about their husbands’ “enthusiastic” drinking habits.

It worked. We all knew our place. We had a target for our misery. Today? Everyone’s so intolerant that even tolerance is the enemy. What happened to the days when your spouse was your go-to whinee and we all just got on with it? Now? Now we’re all just angry little lumps of rage, mad at the world for not revolving around our personal whims.

So here we are, folks. The ultimate pastime. Intolerance. Just like the good ol’ days—except now, you can’t even enjoy a damn flavored water without someone throwing a tantrum.