For this month’s op-ed, I wanted to write about how unaffordable housing is in northern Utah. There are many proposed solutions. Some are misguided, such as Salt Lake City’s citywide residential rezoning plan. This will, for example, allow scraping off small homes on residential streets containing 0.13-acre lots and replacing them with “affordable” fourplexes with minimal setbacks. Poxing single-family neighborhoods with buildings towering over neighbors’ backyards does not constitute “gentle infill,” as planning documents fantasize.

And the city claims these will be affordable. Not.

Scrape-offs a few blocks away turned into condos starting at $1.2 million each. How does anyone afford those? But to really discuss affordable housing, I needed 750 pages, not 750 words.

So I decided the op-ed should advocate for complaining, in part as an excuse to get even more things off my chest. Where I grew up, too much positivity was frowned upon. The Japanese proverb “Deru kui wa utareru”– the nail that sticks up gets hammered down — comes to mind. People didn’t appreciate others being all smiley. Life was not all sunshine, butterflies, rainbows, and cheerful little ponies. No, life was cold, cloudy days and a grinding routine.

Utah is different. There might even be a state statute against complaining.

But complaining in moderation is healthy. As Neil Young sang, “Though my problems are meaningless/ That don’t make them go away.” Complaining helps people connect so they don’t feel alone with their problems. It is cathartic. It identifies problems to fix. It adds an important verbal component to one’s RBF. You’ll have to google that acronym because, although PG-rated, the paper might not like it spelled out.

Complaining plays a key role in democracy, as well. In his famous essay “Why Don’t We Complain?,” conservative commentator William F. Buckley Jr. chastised Americans for being unwilling to complain, writing, “I think the observable reluctance of the majority of Americans to assert themselves in minor matters is related to our increased sense of helplessness in an age of technology and centralized political and economic power.” Sound familiar? This was actually written in 1961.

Today, having a grievance against technology is legit. For example, absolutely everything has been pushed onto the internet “for your convenience.” Personally, I am weary of logging into a million different websites, each with different nine-character passwords containing numbers, uppercase and lowercase letters, and special symbols, which result in six-digit codes pushed to my phone, only to then learn an updated username and password for “the new system” is required, just to discover, for example, if a healthcare provider is in-network or not. This sort of thing used to take five minutes by phone. No wonder there’s a mental health crisis.

But trying to take care of things by phone today — oh, boy. If I’m not stabbing frantically at numbers on the touchscreen, insistent AI voice recognition software politely connects me to the wrong extension. Then, I listen carefully, as menu options have changed. Press 1 to hear the office is closed. Press 2 to speak to someone who doesn’t want to speak to you. Press 3 if you want to remain on hold until tomorrow at midnight before getting disconnected. Press 4 to hear “no” repeatedly. Press 5 if you prefer to engage with a chatbot that can’t help you. Press 6 if you want to hang up in quiet frustration. Press 7 if you wish to scream loudly.

That felt good to write.

May I also grouse about out-of-control tipping culture, with its predator-like swiveling iPad screens, each extorting a 25% minimum tip? When I worked in the service industry, getting a cash tip at the end of each long day made a real difference. So I get how important tips are to service staff, who I hear find the iPad screen embarrassing. Why don’t managers just add a flat service fee so employees can earn a living wage? But there are limits to tipping. Why tip at places where you do all the work — ordering and paying at a counter, fetching silverware and a drink, getting your own food, busing the table? Sometimes I wonder if we’ll soon have to tip vending machines.

There are other “minor matters,” as Buckley called them: the price of gasoline, aging, the workplace epidemic of emails and Zoom meetings — electronic versions of yellowjackets at a picnic. But my op-ed clock has run out.

In sum, even in this sunshiny state, remember that it’s healthy to occasionally wear cranky pants. Wear your RBF with confidence. Complain away. You might just identify something that needs to change, feel better, brighten someone’s day, or share a laugh.

Before I forget, though — if you liked this op-ed, press 1 on your phone to leave a five-star review. Press 2 to send me a 25% tip via Venmo.

Press neither and take a deep breath.

Hal Crimmel is a Brady Presidential Distinguished Professor of English who served for nine years as chair of the English department at Weber State University. This commentary is provided through a partnership with Weber State. The views expressed by the author do not necessarily represent the institutional values or positions of the university.