So yes, shoddiness makes me a little crazy and once in awhile I snap.

Like the day I stopped at the IGA in Vineland for groceries and once home, opened a bag of peanuts that were stale and tasteless. Although it would be a month before I drove back through Vineland on a trip to Toronto, I was determined to return the damn peanuts.

"Look, I know I don't have the receipt and I realize it's been a month since I bought them," I said to the young girl in the produce section, "but I want a new bag of peanuts."

"Okay, well ..." she began. I cut her off.

"These peanuts are stale, shrivelled up and tasteless."

"Okay, well ..."

"Look, this is not a big deal but when I buy food at your store, I expect it to be edible!"

Then we just stared at each other. It felt rather good to take a firm stand.

"Okay, well, sir," she said. "What we're going to do is take this stale bag of peanuts you brought back which is clearly marked "Birdfeed" and we're going to replace it with a fresh bag of peanuts which are meant for people to eat."

And then we stared at each other again. I'd have bet 50 bucks she was going to break up laughing but no, she reduced me to a disgruntled mental dwarf without a trace of a smile or a smirk.

But I do not surrender in the war against inefficiency.

Last month I rented a car from Auto Jardim at the airport in Funchal, Madeira, Portugal. After going over the contract and making note of several scratches and dents, Rita, with the sweet South African accent, sent me on my way. A real taskmaster, Rita had warned me about bringing the car back without a completely full tank or I would pay a 100 Euro penalty.

Forty miles later on the far side of the island, I flipped on the headlights entering a tunnel that also illuminated the dashboard. That's when I noticed the gas gauge, bottom left, was hovering between a quarter and a half of a tank. I couldn't believe it. The last guy didn't fill the tank and Rita the Keener had missed it.

I called Rita but got Lucia, to whom I gave a good piece of my mind - Rita's lecture, the gas tank below half, a contract in error, etc. etc.

"I don't care what the report says. The tank is less than half full."

"Well, we are very particular about that, Senor."

"Not particular enough. Look, I'm not driving back to the airport. You send somebody here to Jardim Do Mar. They can calculate that I've only driven about 70 kilometres and they'll see that the gas tank should be full. But it's not, and no buts. I'm bringing that car back with less than a full tank and don't even think about that 100 Euro penalty! I won't pay it!"

Entering the next tunnel, I flipped on the lights and that's when I noticed that the arrow I'd been looking at on the bottom left was actually the heat gauge. Over in the bottom right corner, the gas gauge indicated a full tank.

"Hello Lucia. This is Mr. Thomas. I called about the gas problem? Yeah well, in Canada the cars always have the gas gauge in the bottom left corner of the dashboard, where oddly enough, you people put the heat indicator. Well, you can imagine my surprise ..."

One thing about Lucia - she did not possess any of the intestinal fortitude of the produce girl at Vineland's IGA. Lucia was laughing so hard I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Upon returning the car to Auto Jardim two weeks later, I had barely placed the keys on the counter when the young woman at the counter said: "So Senor Thomas, did you fill the petrol tank?"

And then she broke up laughing.

"You must be Lucia," I said.

"No, I am Elsa, but I heard all about it."

By now, head office in Lisbon had heard about it.

"This is alright," she said, trying to console me. "Sometimes we have cultural differences."

I had one word for Elsa, Lucia and Rita. I looked at the car, I handed over the contract, I shrugged and said: "whatever."

William Thomas is the author of eight books of humour. See williamthomas.ca.