Sunday, February 28, 2010

Dear Person on Subway:

You see your fair share of weirdos and annoying people on public transportation everyday.  People like you confuse me the most though.  I can't tell if you're dumb, a giant asshole, or just don't give a fuck.  In all likelihood, its some combination of all three.  Its one thing to see people on the train listening to their iPods so fucking loud, I can hear it three rows back, but its an entirely different thing for you just be blaring your music from your iPhone or Zune or whatever the fuck you had straight from the speakers without headphones.  At what point did you think this was socially acceptable?  Did you wake up one morning and think to yourself, "Damn, my music is so fucking good, everyone should listen to it today.  I'm not even going to bring headphones.  I'm just going to play it as loud as my musical device of choice will allow."  Do you think you're a modern day Radio Raheem?  Do you wish it was still 1986?  I actually wish you had a real boombox, because then at least the sound quality might be better out of actual speakers and not your shitty little phone speakers.  The only saving grace of your little personal concert was that you were blaring reggae.  I actually like reggae.  I would be even more bitter and callous if it was something I didn't ostensibly enjoy.  In the future, just wear some fucking headphones, please.  It will sound exactly the same to you, and maybe people will hate you less.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Dear Old Man On Bus:

If I were asked to paint a picture of a grizzled old man, it would look like you.  You were rocking camouflage fatigues and a serious set of shit-kickers for boots.  Your beard was a sight to behold as well.  It was stark white, scraggly, and long.  Just what everyone's looking for in a grizzled old man.  You had crazy beady eyes.  Eyes that said, "Yes, yes I have killed a man with my bare hands."   There is no doubt in my mind you served time in 'Nam and thoroughly enjoyed it.  In fact, all the other guys at the VFW must be giant pussies compared to you.  To complete your look, you had bags and bags of ...I don't know what.  Books, I think.  Whatever they were, they were heavy.  As you were exiting the bus, you walked past me and nailed me on the head with one of your heavy fucking bags.  And let me tell you, when you're sitting quietly reading a book on the bus while on your way to work and you get hit in the back of the head suddenly with what feels like a brick, it kind of sucks.  You mumbled an apology.  Maybe.  I'm not sure.  I was slightly dazed.  You may have just been grunting at me for daring to get in the way of your bags.  Perhaps instead of feeling wronged I should just be happy you didn't fucking flip out and kill me 'Nam-style.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Dear Person Asking For Change Outside The ATM:

Look, I don't want to hate on homeless people.  They have had some series of unfortunate events that have put them in the position they are today, and that's not funny or bothersome to me in any fashion.  I am curious, however, why you in particular are asking for change in front of an ATM.  People normally don't have change when they come out of the ATM vestibule.  They usually have cash and its normally in increments of $20.  ATMs do not hand out coins or small bills, and even if they did, its unlikely that whoever just requested fifty-eight cents from the ATM is going to immediately give it to you.  I understand the importance of being ambitious and shooting for the stars.  That's great.  Go get 'em, tiger.  However, the likelihood of anyone actually giving you one of their nice crisp $20 bills is slim-to-none.  I would recommend trying to hustle up some change in front of establishments in which people might actually leave with loose change in their pockets.  I'm thinking... convenience stores, sub shops, pizza places, maybe a flower shop?  I don't know.  Somewhere where the goods are inexpensive and people usually pay in cash.  But seriously man, I am not giving you half of the $40 I just withdrew.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Dear Person Who Beeped At Me:

You scared the shit out of me.  I'm actually a little embarrassed about how much I jumped at the sound of a car horn.  At first I didn't know who was beeping, but given the way you were angrily giving me the "What the fuck" hands when I looked at you, I think its safe to say you were beeping at me.   I have no idea why.  You had a red light.  I had a walk signal.  Plus there's the whole "Yield to Pedestrians in Crosswalk" rule that people occasionally follow.  Maybe you wanted to take a right turn and I was impeding your ability to turn for all of 12 seconds.  Of course, if that were the case, you might want to turn your blinker on.  So, for beeping at me, scaring me, and generally being an asshole, you have wronged me today mister Toyota Corolla.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Dear Receptionist:

You were actually pretty pleasant-sounding on the phone today, so I almost feel bad complaining about you.  Almost.  My problem with you is why on earth were you typing so aggressively for the entire duration of our phone call?  That's some pretty serious keyboard mashing for me to hear it.  Not to mention you seemed to lose the ability to hear me or focus on anything I was saying while you were typing.  My name is not terribly long or difficult to understand.  Nor was my message for your boss which pretty much only consisted of my phone number.  You probably would not have had to ask me four time to repeat my name or three times to repeat my phone number if you stopped typing momentarily and just listened to me.  I've decided there's only three reasons you would be typing while talking to me: 

1)  You were multi-tasking.  You're busy at work, you need to respond to some e-mails while answering the phone.  That's fine.  Still rude.  But I can't say I haven't done the same.

2)  You're some sort of anal retentive receptionist who feels the need to type out every message immediately as it comes in.  You know, rather than just talk to me like a normal person for a minute or hand-write a message like most folks.  I mean, you're not a fucking stenographer.  We don't need a detailed transcript of the conversation.

or

3)  You were on Gmail chatting with someone.  In which case, fuck you.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Dear Bus Rider:

I'm not a morning person.  (Well, I might not be an anytime person, but that's a discussion for a different day.)  I can barely function anytime before 10am, let alone 8:10am while I'm trying to catch a bus to work.  Public transportation is busy in the morning -- I get that.  Everyone needs to get to work or school or whatever.  Ideally, everyone would like a seat, but it normally doesn't happen.  What would be nice, however, would be to simply move to the back of the bus and get away from the door.  This is where you come in.  Not only did you not move despite repeated requests that you move back a little, but you insisted there was nowhere to go.  I don't know if you thought I wouldn't notice, but there was ample room for you to move.  In fact, I think there may have even been a seat in the back.  In addition to your stubborn refusal to move, you prefaced every sentence with some sort of fucking beat-box rhythm.  I don't know if you noticed, but a) you're about 45 and b) last time I checked, amateur beat-boxing rarely sounds good.  Perhaps you had a super funky form of Tourette's.  If that's the case, that's cool.  I have no beef with that.  I highly doubt that though.  The only other option then is that you think it's cool to make up a little musical intro to your statements.  And that's not cool.  That's just fucking weird.  I eventually shoved passed your chubby, middle-aged, beat-boxing ass and found a seat.  In the future, buddy, just move to the back of the fucking bus like everyone else, or at least let people through without making shit up about how you can't move.  And stop beat-boxing.  Seriously.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Dear Jam Band:

I had the unfortunate experience of seeing you perform tonight.  I had no idea you were going to be at this bar tonight.  I wish I did know, because perhaps I would have had the foresight to go elsewhere.  I generally don't like seeing random bands at bars.  They are almost always, without fail, awful.  And jams bands are no exception.  In fact, jam bands in general are terrible, terrible creations.  You see them at parties, or bars, or (god-forbid) some sort of terrible "booze cruise."  You know who they are.  Nothing more than aging potheads clinging to any semblance of musical talent they may have once had like grim death.  You folks tonight were a special group indeed.  You seemed to lack a guitar player, but more than made up for it with not one, but two keyboards.  Nothing says classy band like two keyboards and no guitar.  You did have a bassist, but as far as I could tell, he was doing his own thing with complete disregard for whatever song you were trying to cover.  Although I generally feel wronged for having to put up with your bullshit for a couple hours tonight, I feel like one of the individuals playing the keyboard was especially obnoxious.  He wasn't just rocking out on his Yamaha like the other guy, he was making the evening even more memorable by producing the most heinous screeching noise I have ever had the displeasure of hearing.  Although, I couldn't tell if the deafening volume of your speakers made the heinous screeching more or less bearable.  I'm sure you all spent hours in rehearsal making sure the "breakdown" was just perfect.  And I'm sure you all gave each other big pats on the back for such innovative and ground-breaking use of the second keyboard.  I would also be remiss if I didn't comment on your sweet headband.  You looked like the bastard child of Dave Navarro and  Apolo Ono.  Either way, it was a special night.  So congratulations shitty jam band keyboardist -- you have wronged me tonight.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Dear Person Who Called My Office:

I'm sure you think you are a very important person, with a very important job, with very important clients, who have very important issues to deal with, but get a fucking grip man.  I do not work for you.  I do not need to put up with your demanding bullshit.  I know the letter I sent you was difficult to understand, but if you tried actually looking at it, it would have answered all of your questions.  However, your stupid questions were not how you have wronged me today.  You have wronged me today for your complete inability to act like a normal human being on the telephone.  For starters, most people say "Thank You" after they've asked some questions and gotten answers.  Believe it or not, but most people also usually say "Goodbye" when they hang up.  Even the biggest assholes in the world can usually muster a sarcastic "Thanks a lot, goodbye" when they get off the phone.  You, on the other hand, evidently lack even the most basic social graces.  And the most astounding part of this all is, I've spoken to you more than once on the telephone and you have yet to end a conversation with anything but hanging up on me abruptly.  Next time, let's try not acting like you were raised by fucking wolves, and be a little nicer to the hoi polloi.