Sunday, October 31, 2010

Dear Jogger:

Dude, you're an asshole.  The city sidewalk is not your own personal running area.  Under no circumstances are you justified running into people and shoving them out of the way.  Your vocal complaints and grumbling under your breath are not necessary either.  You honestly cannot expect to run through a fucking bus stop and not encounter some people along the way, especially when there's a line of people boarding a bus.  I mean, unless you don't pay any attention whatsoever when you run because you're so fucking in the zone, I can't fathom how didn't you see the dozen or so people in front of you on the sidewalk.  Do you think you're so fucking special with your sweet Asics running shoes and special thermal moisture-wicking top that people are just going to part like the Red Sea for you?  Slow it down some.  Watch where you're going.  And don't be a dick.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Dear Restaurant Host:

I called your fine establishment to make reservations for dinner recently.  I'm not sure if I talked to you on the phone, or someone else, but whoever I talked to made reservations for me at 8:30.  Later that evening, I show up a bit early for my reservation.  You inform me that there's four groups ahead of me and that there's a bit of a wait.  I tell you that I have a reservation, but you don't seem to care.  Now, at this point I'm slightly annoyed already, because ..well, isn't the point of a reservation so you don't have to wait behind multiple groups of people for a table to open up?  However, this isn't why you've wronged me.  You have wronged me today because you basically told me I was a liar.  After informing you that I had called earlier and made a reservation, your response was, "Everyone says that."  Seriously?  Do you really think I'm making that up?  Why the fuck would I make that up? Do you want to see my cell phone and the recent call that was placed to your restaurant?  I mean, you don't even have a fucking reservation book.  And if you do, you could at least pretend to look at it.  I feel like if you ostensibly take reservations, you might want to write them down somewhere and not be an asshole to me when I tell you I have one.  Whatever.  We go outside to wait.  Some time later you come out to collect us and since you apparently don't know how to speak to customers, you sort of apologize for the wait, but reiterate the fact that "Everyone says they made reservations."  Why are you bringing this up again?  I didn't even say anything about it.  I was almost being pleasant.  And given the way you've acted thus far, I'm willing to bet everyone says they made reservations because, like me, they actually did make reservations.  Anyways, the food was good, but come on, man... pay attention to your reservations and don't call me a fucking liar.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Guest Post: Dear Tow Truck Driver:

This letter comes courtesy of Sam the Eagle from sunny Brighton, MA.  Tow truck drivers are probably universally shitty, but this guy definitely sounds like more than the average douchebag.  Anyways, without further ado..

Dear Tow Truck Driver,

Let me preface our interaction by saying that, yes, I do already hate your kind for stealing my car and selling it back to me on more than one occassion.  However, in this unusual turn of events, I actually had to call you to enlist your services.

You showed up late, although, I was not actually expecting you to be there in exactly 45 minutes as I was told.  I was surprised, however, to find that in addition to being late, you were a huge douche.  After instantly realizing how much of a douche you were, I lost all faith that any part of this exchange would go smoothly.  This was confirmed when you had to ask me if the car being towed was front or rear wheel drive.  While the average driver may not know the difference, you, sir, tow cars for a living.

Once the car was loaded up, you asked for the address I was having it towed to.  I told the person whom I spoke with on the phone earlier, but I was more than happy to repeat myself for such a charming person such as yourself.  After saying the address, which is what you asked for, you stared blanky at me before asking, "Directions?"  Directions?  In 2010, where they give out GPSs with magazine subscriptions, and you're actually in the industry of driving around, how do you not have a fucking GPS?

Fucking directions..

So I begin to tell you off the top of my head how to get to said destination.  You stop me to interject, "Can't you go inside and print Mapquest for me?"  My hunch that you've time traveled from the past to tow this car was confirmed.  Questions came to mind while I pondered how you got to my residence in 2010 from 1998.  Who the fuck uses Mapquest still?  Do people even own printers at home?  How the fuck do you not have a GPS?  So I take my phone and look up directions on Google Maps to write them out for you.  You interrupt me, something about a Furby or pogs that fell out of your sweatpants I assumed, but I finish writing the directions.  You take the paper, look at it, and then tell me that's not the way to get there.  Lastly, I give you my cell phone number in the event there were any issues (I was expecting some), to which you say, "Yeah, I have the same phone."  The same fucking phone with GPS built in that just gave you directions.

As you hopped back into your cockpit of uselessness, I told you to lock the keys in the car when it was unloaded at the destination.  You looked at me like I asked you to drive full speed into a brick wall and said, "Yeah, if that's what you want..." in a delightfully pejorative way and drove off.  Get fucked, buddy.


Saturday, October 16, 2010

Re-post: Dear Person on Subway:

A recent comment on the cell phone fiasco read, "Just wait until you sit next to someone who plays music on their cell phone speakers.  It's the millennium's new boom-box.  And fucking annoying."

Unfortunately, I did have this experience back in February (when no one read my blog).  So, for Cristin's and everyone else's viewing pleasure, here's the original post:  

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Dear Person With Cell Phone:

I don't know where to start.  You might possibly have the most annoying fucking cell phone ever.  And, of course, you just had to sit next to me on my bus ride home from work today.  I'm going to ignore the fact that you had your iPod blasting to unreasonable levels.  I've already bitched about that before, but guess what?  It's still fucking annoying.  Anyways, your cell phone was turned up to the highest possible volume.  In fact, I'm surprised you can actually make your cell phone that loud.  I honestly don't think my phone is capable of generating that much sound.  Now, you probably have it turned all the way up because you also insist of having your iPod at max volume too.  I mean, how else are you gong to know that your phone is ringing?  You certainly can't hear it at a normal volume level with your music so fucking loud.  Oh, you haven't heard of the vibrate setting?  It's pretty handy.  In addition to the absurdly high volume at which you apparently go through life at, your phone rang like 9 fucking times.  And did you ever answer it?  No.  Did you have a normal ringtone?  Of course not.  I don't even know what it was.  If I had to name it, I would probably call it, "High Pitched Beeping."  It was fucking terrible.  All I wanted to do is take a nap, but instead I was serenaded by whatever shitty music you're listening too and constant fucking loud high pitched beeping.  Eventually you noticed your phone was ringing (or whatever the fuck it was doing) and you started dicking around on it.  Naturally, your phone also produced exceedingly loud beeps every time you hit a button.  I don't really understand why that's even a feature on phones.  What benefit does making noise when you touch a button have?  You either don't know how to use your phone or you wrote the longest fucking text message ever because you would not stop button mashing your phone thus producing the most heinous cacophony of unnecessarily loud beeps.  It was awful.  I'd cut you some slack if you were a kid, but you were like thirty.  Learn to act like an adult in public, buddy.  

Monday, October 11, 2010

Dear Bus Driver Who Lectured Me:

Your bus was late, as per usual.  I'm kind of used to this by now, but its still pretty fucking annoying now and then.  When your bus did show up, it was fucking packed.  Again, this isn't unusual, but annoying nonetheless.  Everyone piled onto the bus, trying to squeeze in as much as possible.  I was able to physically make it onto the bus, but before I could pay, you covered the fare meter with your hand, looked at me, and announced, "If you haven't paid yet, you have to get off the bus."  Ugh.  I did not want to wait for another fucking bus and I'm sure I either let out a heavy sigh or maybe I just looked pissed off.  Either way, I wasn't so much pissed off at you, Mr. Bus Driver, as I was at the situation as a whole.  Nonetheless, you decided to fucking lay into me and lecture me as to exactly why I needed to get off the bus.  I wasn't really listening closely.  I was mostly staring blankly at you because I couldn't believe you were personally offended that I was annoyed.  I mean, who doesn't love waiting 25 minutes for a bus that should have been there in 5 minutes and then having to get off the bus and wait god knows how long for another one?  I'm sorry that my dissatisfaction with your entire organization is offensive to you.  In any event, your lecture included phrases such as, "federal law" and "it's my job."  Your job also entails trying to keep to a fucking schedule, but apparently that's not as important as harassing me about having too many people on the bus.  Not to mention, only about 15-20% of bus drivers actually give a shit about that maximum passenger bullshit.  Whatever.  Sorry I offended you, buddy.  Maybe try not being consistently late every fucking day.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

A Story I Must Share:

I generally don't post anything on here except for my own curmudgeonly musings (although, I do have some guest posts in the works), but this story was so fantastic and full of wrongings, I just had to re-post it here:

My neighbor, the faceless pussy.

Seriously, his neighbor sounds pretty terrible on all accounts

Also, that dude's blog is generally hilarious, but this post in particular spoke to me for obvious reasons.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Dear Person Who Vomited in Sink:

I was out at a restaurant/bar for some drinks recently.  It was a Sunday night around 7 or 8pm.  It was pretty quiet and there weren't a ton of people around.  Not exactly a wild and crazy night to be out drinking.  In any event, at some point I headed to the restroom to use the facilities.  As I went to wash my hands, I was shocked, dismayed, disgusted, etc. to find that the sink was filled with fucking vomit.  What the fuck?  What is wrong with you?  Who is out drinking so heavily on a lazy Sunday evening that they had to vomit in the fucking sink?  You couldn't even make it the toilet?  Or even the trash can?  Instead you choose to waldo in the sink?  Not to mention, there's only one sink in this bathroom.  So everyone who wants to wash their hands has to deal with that situation.  Awesome.  I feel really bad for whoever eventually has to clean that up.  Public bathrooms are probably pretty gross to clean in the first place, but.. vomit in the sink?  That takes it to a whole new level.  I don't want to be graphic, but I'm not going to lie... it was a little chunky.  Maybe it wasn't alcohol consumption that caused you to throw up.  Maybe it was some bad food.  That's just not good for business if that's the case.  Anyways, don't vomit in the sink, dude.  That's just fucked up and gross for everyone.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Dear Person Complaining on Bus:

You managed to vocally complain at every single bus stop about people getting on and off the bus.  Things like, "Ugh." and "Why is this so difficult?" and other various heavy sighs and snarky remarks.  It's a fucking bus, what do you expect?  Furthermore, you were standing in front of the door and refused to move anywhere else.  Did it ever occur to you that you're the problem here?  Obviously people are going to be brushing past you if you're standing in the way of the fucking exit.  God forbid you move elsewhere and make it easier for people to get off the bus.  And why are you acting like other people are the dumb ones?  Making snarky comments out loud like, "Why is this so difficult?" is fucking stupid.  It's difficult because you're in the fucking way.  The little enclave by the exit isn't your own personal space.  Go stand in the aisle with everyone else and shut the fuck up.