Dear Impatient Man in the Beat Up Toyota Truck,
I'd like to express my extreme appreciation of your lack of patience this past Saturday. The conniption fit you had while my husband stopped the car to let me out in front of the bank was extremely amusing. Not so amusing, however, was your recklessly speeding around the car just as my husband began to pull away. You could have added yet another dent to your truck! We wouldn't want that!
Your attitude while standing behind me as I deposited a check at the ATM was highly entertaining as well. After informing me, incorrectly, that we'd stopped in a no stopping zone (it was a no parking zone, and no parking was done), and having it pointed out to you that I'm in a leg cast, your clever response of "What's that prove?" could only be met with my answer, "That you're a prick." After you wittily pointed out "At least I have one," I was admittedly at a loss for words. Did you somehow miss the fact that I am a woman and thus neither need nor want the additional equipment? Did you believe that I would be impressed by your knowledge of your own anatomy (a knowledge I suspect you and your palm share intimately)?
I had never before heard your selected send-off of "Fuck you, bitch!" and commend you on your originality. I must again reiterate that this was wishful thinking on your part, as I will not now nor ever share anything resembling a bed with you. I refer you to either your right or left hand for satisfaction in this area. Your choice.
Good luck with the drug deal for which you were obviously late. I hope that works out for you.
Sincerely,
The Bitch
Dear Everyone Who Shops at Costco,
Look, it's not that hard ok? Keep to the right, for God's sake! It's not like I enjoy running a slalom every time I walk in the place. Y'all are worse than French people.
Love,
The Woman Who Knows Her Left from Her Right
I'm going to point out to you one more time that we are in no way, shape, or form trying to starve you to death. To that end, you may notice that there is always kibble in your bowl. While I realize you have brains the size of walnuts, it shouldn't really be that hard to understand that being able to see the bottom of one half of your bowl does not constitute a famine situation. There is still plenty of kibble in that half, and - hey! here's news for you! - there's another side of the bowl as well. Try looking around just briefly before you panic, all righty?
I'm glad we had this little chat.
Kisses,
The Warden
Dear Time Clock,
This letter is to inform you that your job performance is not up to par with current standards. Unless your execution and follow-through improve dramatically within the next week, we will be forced to take action. The biggest area for improvement would be in the speed arena. A prime example of your problematic work ethic is the fact that every time I look at you, you're only about a minute further along than the last time I looked. This sort of slow, dragging behavior brings the entire unit's morale to a screeching halt, and does irreparable damage to our sanity.
Please consider this an official written warning. If dramatic and sustained improvement is not witnessed immediately, the next step will be probation, potentially followed by termination.
Yours truly,
A worker bee
Dear FM radio DJ,
Just a note to clarify a few open issues in my mind. First off, when you advertised that you're the station that plays hits from the 80's, did you actually intend to play any music? I only ask because I've noticed that during my morning commutes you only play one song every 45 minutes. A couple more would be helpful to back up your claims.
I'd further like to point out that if I have to hear "867-5309" one more time, I may become violent. It wasn't the only hit of the decade, ok? There were lots of other songs during those 10 years. Perhaps you'd like to put some of them into circulation. I don't think you play "Tarzan Boy" nearly enough, for example (and when I say not nearly enough, I mean you don't play it at all and that's bad). When you get a free moment, I wouldn't mind it one bit if you exorcised everything U2 ever recorded from your play list and replaced it with lots more Depeche Mode. And before you ask, they recorded more than just "Master and Servant" so only playing that one isn't going to cut it.
Basically, I'm sick of hearing the same 15 songs rotated every day. I like the Police as much as anybody, but playing "Every Breath You Take" every two hours does not qualify you as the Bay Area's authority on the 80's. How come you only play two Duran Duran songs when they had a lot more - why don't you play "Save a Prayer" more often so I can howl along dramatically on the way home from work? That'd be so much fun. I know I can listen to it on CD. It's not the same as coming across it by accident. You have to branch out. You have to take chances.
Your time is much appreciated and I look forward to a more complete representation of the 80's.
A member of your target demographic
Dear New Cafeteria at Work,
Ok, are you kidding? You can't cook anything? There's no. Cooking. ONSITE!? Just heating up in the microwave?? Not much of a cafeteria then, are you? More of a stationary roach coach, but without the burritos. So then everything you have was prepared elsewhere and brought here at lukewarm temperatures to sit around for two hours? Including the pizza? You do understand what cheese does after sitting around for an hour, right? Ok, well… thanks for clearing that up. It's better than nothing I guess. No, no, don't apologize; I know you didn't have any say in the matter. I know you're doing the best you can. No, I'm not being bitter about it. I'm fine. No, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm just tired. Oh no… no, now please don't cry… I didn't mean it like that…
God, you're so sensitive.
Kristin
Dear Rhett,
You're the best dog ever in the history of the universe. No doubt about it. I come home from work and there you are, practically killing yourself to run down the stairs at top speed to greet me, because there was obviously a good deal of doubt in your mind that I was ever going to return at all. I know you think I go to the park every time I leave the house and throw around tennis balls all day but even though you're envious of this unseen and highly glamorous lifestyle of mine, you don't hold it against me. You just come galumphing up, hopping around with excitement, slapping your sides with your tail because it's wagging so hard, grinning from ear to ear… just cuz I came home.
When I give up the trappings of civilization and become a hermit, will you join me? I'll throw your toy for you a lot more than I can right now. I promise.
Thanks buddy,
Mama
- KNP Aug 25, 2002
