Just a quick note to let you know that my latest optometry bill should be arriving in your mailbox any day now.
My left eye is healing well, you'll be glad to know, despite the good old-fashioned poking it took when you passed by me with your umbrella today. I realize you were in a rush – late, no doubt, for a very important sample sale, grandé skinny extra-snot no-brain latté, or meeting of Halfwits Anonymous. (Your secret's out.) Otherwise, I'm sure you would have practiced safe shelter – tilting, lifting or closing your umbrella in thickly settled sidewalk areas.
Here's hoping your next victim doesn't suffer a punctured larynx or worse – roam rage. All it takes is one hot-tempered passer-by to teach you what weathering a storm really means.
Happy trails,
Snake Plissken
Monday, March 21, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Dear Bus Stop Bonehead,
I regret to inform you that your results are in, and you are suffering from Idowhatiwant, Type PFFFTTTHHHHH. It is a common condition but, unfortunately, one that has no cure.
That said, I am here to offer support at the bus stop, where your self-absorption symptoms tend to be at their worst.
Please draw your attention to Figure A.
As you can see, there is a sign post where the bus stops each morning. To the left of the sign post is the bus shelter. To the right is the street corner.
In a healthy bus stop situation, the first person to arrive at the bus stop waits by the sign post. All subsequent passengers form a line to the left in front of the bus shelter. By the time you arrive, this line is usually plenty long and consists of people other than yourself.
In other words, the planet Earth consists of people other than yourself.
Researchers believe that it may be a certain shade of blue – similar to that of the bus stop sign post – that triggers the Idowhatiwant enzyme to produce a selfish reaction in the body. This can cause a bonehead to drift to the right of where they are supposed to be, as shown in Figure B.
Generally speaking, standing to the right of the sign post is harmless. But once the bus arrives, Idowhatiwant takes over. It will cause you to move toward the bus door and immediately enter the bus the instant the door opens, with no regard for senior citizens, the wheelchair-bound and every other passenger who has been waiting for at least 15 minutes in the cold, prior to your arrival. This is bad.
So what have we learned?
While it is unlikely that being so self-involved is something that will ever go away completely, education such as this can help to alleviate certain symptoms. Symptoms that can affect other people. Piss off other people.
Please do your best to keep on top of your disruptive condition. We certainly don't want you to end up like Figure C.
Get well soon,
Passenger 1
That said, I am here to offer support at the bus stop, where your self-absorption symptoms tend to be at their worst.
Please draw your attention to Figure A.
 |
| Fig. A: A healthy bus stop situation |
As you can see, there is a sign post where the bus stops each morning. To the left of the sign post is the bus shelter. To the right is the street corner.
In a healthy bus stop situation, the first person to arrive at the bus stop waits by the sign post. All subsequent passengers form a line to the left in front of the bus shelter. By the time you arrive, this line is usually plenty long and consists of people other than yourself.
In other words, the planet Earth consists of people other than yourself.
Researchers believe that it may be a certain shade of blue – similar to that of the bus stop sign post – that triggers the Idowhatiwant enzyme to produce a selfish reaction in the body. This can cause a bonehead to drift to the right of where they are supposed to be, as shown in Figure B.
 |
| Fig. B: An unhealthy bus stop situation |
Generally speaking, standing to the right of the sign post is harmless. But once the bus arrives, Idowhatiwant takes over. It will cause you to move toward the bus door and immediately enter the bus the instant the door opens, with no regard for senior citizens, the wheelchair-bound and every other passenger who has been waiting for at least 15 minutes in the cold, prior to your arrival. This is bad.
So what have we learned?
While it is unlikely that being so self-involved is something that will ever go away completely, education such as this can help to alleviate certain symptoms. Symptoms that can affect other people. Piss off other people.
Please do your best to keep on top of your disruptive condition. We certainly don't want you to end up like Figure C.
 |
| Fig. C: Awwwwww |
Get well soon,
Passenger 1
Friday, March 11, 2011
Dear Elevator Evil-Doer,
I saw you. And I know you saw me.
It's ironic really, because I've been studying selfish humans for quite some time now. And I happen to think that people who don't hold the elevator for other people are a remarkable breed of idiot. In fact, did you know that there are a number of very specific techniques that rude elevator people like yourself have perfected over the years? It's true. You're in rude company.
Take a look:
The Disappearing Act
This is a slick, yet cowardly, move. It involves the idiot – you – entering the elevator and immediately ducking around the corner, directly in front of the button panel. This allows you, you idiot, to hide out of view of the person who is hoping to get to the elevator in time. You can then push the DOOR CLOSE button repeatedly and shut the victim out, without ever showing your face.
WARNING: This technique can backfire if the person trying to reach the elevator has an extended umbrella or freakishly long lunge that can obstruct the sliding doors in time to open them back up. And then you're screwed.
Modus Preoccupi
For the more strategic idiot, this method requires some sort of prop to be fake-engrossed by. Popular choices include mail, headphones or a cell phone. Reading mail is typically the best way to go because it literally focuses your pretend attention downward, which is more convincing when the doors close on the person behind you. Be smart about which item you choose to quasi-read, though. If your target happens to reach the elevator in time (see Disappearing Act warning above), they may wonder why you were so immersed in your 1-800-DENTIST advert – especially, when they notice your flawless smile the minute you lie, "Oh sorry. Didn't see you coming. Which floor?"
The Couldn't Care Press
This is simply the tactic of a moron who doesn't want to wait, and doesn't care who knows it. The steps are simple: (1) enter elevator, (2) press the DOOR CLOSE button and (3) stare straight into the whites of your victim's eyes until the doors shut tightly in front of his or her fuming face. Especially vile idiots might give a smile before the doors close, or chomp their gum rebelliously. (Think Marky Mark in "Fear.") You don't think twice about what you've done. You get joy out of it. The best defense against someone like you? Karma. I've been told what comes around, goes around. A swinging mace would be my choice here.
Now, we both know which category you fit into. (I had you at number 1.) But I wonder if in your spineless haste you considered the fact that the floor numbers do light up for those residents who are waiting for the elevator. So not only do I know where you live, I happen to know I could take you in a chase. After all, you needed a frackin' elevator to get to the second floor.
Harmlessly,
Your SIXTH floor neighbor
It's ironic really, because I've been studying selfish humans for quite some time now. And I happen to think that people who don't hold the elevator for other people are a remarkable breed of idiot. In fact, did you know that there are a number of very specific techniques that rude elevator people like yourself have perfected over the years? It's true. You're in rude company.
Take a look:
The Disappearing Act
This is a slick, yet cowardly, move. It involves the idiot – you – entering the elevator and immediately ducking around the corner, directly in front of the button panel. This allows you, you idiot, to hide out of view of the person who is hoping to get to the elevator in time. You can then push the DOOR CLOSE button repeatedly and shut the victim out, without ever showing your face.
WARNING: This technique can backfire if the person trying to reach the elevator has an extended umbrella or freakishly long lunge that can obstruct the sliding doors in time to open them back up. And then you're screwed.
Modus Preoccupi
For the more strategic idiot, this method requires some sort of prop to be fake-engrossed by. Popular choices include mail, headphones or a cell phone. Reading mail is typically the best way to go because it literally focuses your pretend attention downward, which is more convincing when the doors close on the person behind you. Be smart about which item you choose to quasi-read, though. If your target happens to reach the elevator in time (see Disappearing Act warning above), they may wonder why you were so immersed in your 1-800-DENTIST advert – especially, when they notice your flawless smile the minute you lie, "Oh sorry. Didn't see you coming. Which floor?"
The Couldn't Care Press
This is simply the tactic of a moron who doesn't want to wait, and doesn't care who knows it. The steps are simple: (1) enter elevator, (2) press the DOOR CLOSE button and (3) stare straight into the whites of your victim's eyes until the doors shut tightly in front of his or her fuming face. Especially vile idiots might give a smile before the doors close, or chomp their gum rebelliously. (Think Marky Mark in "Fear.") You don't think twice about what you've done. You get joy out of it. The best defense against someone like you? Karma. I've been told what comes around, goes around. A swinging mace would be my choice here.
Now, we both know which category you fit into. (I had you at number 1.) But I wonder if in your spineless haste you considered the fact that the floor numbers do light up for those residents who are waiting for the elevator. So not only do I know where you live, I happen to know I could take you in a chase. After all, you needed a frackin' elevator to get to the second floor.
Harmlessly,
Your SIXTH floor neighbor
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Dear Condescending Co-Worker,
I am writing to personally thank you for starting off my morning on such a positive note.
You see, the tone with which you spoke to me just a few minutes ago brought me straight back to a cherished time in my life. Kindergarten. Seems like just yesterday Mrs. Viera taught me how to tie my shoes, reviewing each step in detail, careful to allow my underdeveloped brain to absorb each instruction. But you know me – slower than the cash-only tollbooth lane. Thank goodness for Velcro.
Perhaps next time, you can give me your feedback to the tune of “Little Bunny Foo Foo.” Or allow me to eat paste while you yammer on. Better yet, you eat the paste. I’ll just stare at you blankly with drool running down my face hoping that some day I can eat paste exactly like you.
You are so smart and interesting. I look forward to our next lesson.
Insignificantly yours,
You see, the tone with which you spoke to me just a few minutes ago brought me straight back to a cherished time in my life. Kindergarten. Seems like just yesterday Mrs. Viera taught me how to tie my shoes, reviewing each step in detail, careful to allow my underdeveloped brain to absorb each instruction. But you know me – slower than the cash-only tollbooth lane. Thank goodness for Velcro.
Perhaps next time, you can give me your feedback to the tune of “Little Bunny Foo Foo.” Or allow me to eat paste while you yammer on. Better yet, you eat the paste. I’ll just stare at you blankly with drool running down my face hoping that some day I can eat paste exactly like you.
You are so smart and interesting. I look forward to our next lesson.
Insignificantly yours,
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