Dear Criss-Crosswalker,

I'm not sure if you remember me. We met this morning in midtown. Our paths crossed on the crosswalk. Quite literally.

I was on my way to work. You were on your high horse. Then BAM! You slammed into my right shoulder, and just kept right on going.

No, no it's fine. Really. I'm OK. But once the little animated birdies stopped circling my head and you were long gone, I noticed that I was but one victim in the overall carnage you had left behind.

That's because you had decided to cross the crosswalk diagonally.

Yep...there you were at your point A with your eyes dead-set on your point B, and ain't nothin' was gonna get in the way of where YOU had to go. Not my shoulder. Not the little old lady piloting her Jazzy. Nothing.

To be fair, there are no written rules with regard to crossing crosswalks. Just common sense. And since you've proven that we can't rely on that, you can borrow some of mine. I'll draw pictures, too.


How to Cross a Crosswalk

OPTION 1: Walk in a straight line, keeping to the right-hand side of the crosswalk. (See Figure A.)

Fig. A: Safe cross-walking

OPTION 2: Walk in a straight line to the other side of the street, keeping to your trajectory. (See Figure B.)

Fig. B: So-so, yet still acceptable cross-walking

How NOT to Cross a Crosswalk

Fix your eyes on the spot where you would most like to be once you've crossed the street (Figure C)...

Fig. C: This can't end well

And go for it (Figure D)...

Fig. D

So you see, loathee, until portals, transporters or floo powder become real-life alternatives for getting us quickly from one destination to another, we're just going to have to rely on our measly network of roads, train tracks, bike paths and pedestrian crosswalks. And although you may have mistakenly interpreted the "cross" in "crosswalk" to mean "in any direction...at any cost," I can't allow that to be my problem.

Print out the pretty pictures. Study them. There will be a test should we "run into" each other again.

Sorely,
Vexed walker ranger

Dear Unprofessional Up-Talker,

The voice you are using at the office is not only inaudible, it's inappropriate.

If I were your supervisor, I would not hesitate to list your communication skills as a primary "area of improvement" on your performance review. Too many young women from your generation speak like you do. It's hurting our business, destroying the English language and, like chalk on a chalkboard, giving me the heebie jeebies.

Following a client meeting the other day, for example, I *think* I heard you say:

"I will write up a contact report and
send it to everyone within the hour."

After applying your wackadoo voice filter, however, it came out more like:

"So ahhfter this meetING? I'll write up a contact rePORT?
Ahhnd send it to everyone within, liiike, the houuuu."

I just don't know what to call this language. Irkish? Egadsian? Stopitplese?

I would almost prefer it if you were just a full-on valley girl. Although annoying, valleyspeak would at least take me back to a time when my biggest concern was completing one side of a Rubik's Cube. And then I could spend my time in your midst daydreaming and reminiscing rather than wincing and loathing.

But instead, you and other gits like you have created a dialect containing a few cringeworthy commonalities that I have been able to pinpoint:

Up-Talking
The art of breaking up a single statement into multiple quesTIONS? By unnecessarily popping random syllables in that sentENCE? Why? (No, really. That last one is actually a question.)

The Dull, Extended Vooohhhwel
Sticking in extra vowels, in a way that inexplicably changes the sound of that vowel. This often makes you sound like you're choking, which – while an idea worth entertaining – makes your sentence much longer than it has to be. And keeps your listener in a conversation with you much longer than they want to be.

The Case of the Missing Consonant
Often on the heels of the extended vowel, the final consonant is forgotten. Or too difficult to pronounce. Or maybe it voluntarily caught the first flight to Buffalo in order to avoid being caught dead in your ridiculous-sounding statement. (StateMENT?)

A Side of Vocal Fry
As a result of all of the above, the vocal chords get lazy and decide to take the day off. We are left with a scratchy tone to the voice that makes me want to lunge across the table and shove a lozenge down your girl gullet.

Like, One More Thing
That dreaded time-filler: "Like." It's the modern-day "Um." A poor man's "Let me see now." A little known fact? The number of "likes" that one uses in a sentence is directly proportional to the number of smacks they deserve.

I don't believe you need to "Hand the man the dandy candy" and speak like voice and articulator Kenneth C. Crannell might have us all speak. I do believe you need to conduct yourself with just enough professionalism to warrant the fact that you are probably making more money than I am. Otherwise, I may have to use my own voice to take you down.

Oh wait. I just did.

Much loathe,
Your fatigued colleague

Dear Mobile Phone Menace,

I quite enjoy the zombie commute. The early morning ride to work where silence is golden and interacting with other humans is not required. It is a cherished time when I can stare at other commuters and silently judge their haircuts, poo-poo their choice of shoes and guess that their marriages will last about as many years as the number of karats in the ridiculous rocks on their fingers.

So, you see, when you break that silence, it had better be for a good reason. And talking in full volume on your cell phone is not.

Today, I was forced to listen to every detail of the interview you conducted in your office yesterday. The candidate was extremely qualified, judging by the salary that you publicly broadcast. Your only concern was that you should not be the person to whom he reports.

Funny, I had the same thought.

I don't know why it amazed me, but it did. You were SO LOUD. Everyone on the bus watched you as you spoke. You looked directly at all of us several times, as if you were pleased to have everyone's attention. Perhaps it was my fault that you continued on in such a fashion. I was most definitely smiling at the whole spectacle. I guess you didn't realize that it was more of an American Psycho smile – the kind that comes from plotting a brutal murder.

Oh, I realize you're not the only one of your kind out there. Just a few of the topics I've been exposed to over the years, against my will:

• The not-so-confidential particulars of a real estate deal a woman was putting together. This includes all of the home's attributes, including one very large window I was hoping she'd jump from.

• The exact intersection where one girl was meeting her friend in an hour. No, not the northeast corner...the southeast. Not in front of Duane Reade, but outside of Staples. Next to the place with the guy with the dog with the limp. Just this side of I DON'T CARE.

• All the ways one guy was getting the shaft at work. Man, was he on a roll. I named him Complainy Smurf to keep from bludgeoning him with my gym bag. Luckily, a sweet, elderly woman came to my rescue and shouted "What, so 50 other people have to hear your private phone call???" I named her Supergram. 

The point is, if you're going to continue being rude, the rest of us will continue giving you the stink-eye. (Or my equivalent – writing Loathe Letters.) We've all had to endure people like you since the dawn of the mobile phone. From that passer-by who's phone call we catch just a few words of ("Everyone gets rashes. I'm sure it's nothing.") to you – the chick so engulfed in your "private" conversation that, 20 minutes into it, you sprinted to the front of the bus because you thought you missed your stop. And that just made you look silly.

OK, now I'm smiling again.

Call me,
Long-time listener, first-time loather

Dear Football Fool,

You are throwing a football in the middle of a city block bustling with people and traffic. This is not Giants Stadium. You don't belong here. Judging by your skills, you don't belong there either. Besides images of pizza and beer pong and boobies and lint, I can only imagine what was going through your mind.

Your first throw fell onto the sidewalk, about 3 inches in front of a nice couple taking a weekend stroll. Your receiver must have gone REALLY wide, because he was nowhere to be seen. The couple screamed. You laughed. I loathed.

Your second throw trumped your first, rocketing about 8 feet in front of you. Into traffic. A cab swerved to miss it. You laughed again, then ran out into traffic to retrieve it – the only decision of yours with which I was in total agreement.

Sadly, I was only in the vicinity long enough to witness your third throw. You stood in the middle of the street (good boy...now staaay...) and launched another bomb back onto the sidewalk. It just missed a parked car that I secretly hoped belonged to someone named Jimmy Two-Fists.

I saw your friends following you and laughing, but I'm not sure you were ever really throwing that football to anyone at all. Which begs the question...why exactly am I wasting any more time writing this letter to you?

Gotta go.

Yours cruelly,
Not your biggest fan

Dear Unamusement Park,

As an avid roller coaster fanatic, I recently took it upon myself to visit your Valencia, California location. Magic Mountain boasts "More coasters than any other theme park on the planet," due to its whopping 18 roller coasters. That beats Cedar Point, my absolute favorite vacation destination, by just one coaster. And your list of contenders? Incredible. Impressively unique designs. Dips and twists that defy physics. What a thrill-seeker's dream. I couldn't wait to get started.

Then I arrived.

$15 for parking. Sigh...fine. Green Lantern will make up for that.

$60 for a one-day ticket. Oh well. Superman: Escape from Krypton is supposedly the best thing since In-N-Out Burger.

While I waited for the park to open, your perky, neon-clad pre-show performers assured me and the rest of the crowd that whatever wonders lay beyond the main gates were pretty much going to make me wet myself. In my world, this is a good thing. So I willingly listened to them tout the stats of Green Lantern, Superman and all the other rides that solidified my decision to come here in the first place.

Finally, the gates opened.

Refusing to be one of those people who sprinted to their first ride, I coolly fast-walked to Colossus, your giant dual-track wooden coaster. Seemed like an appropriate, moderate thrill start to my morning. But when I got there, the experience went a little something like this.

Colossus was down for the day.

So I walked to Gotham City to hit some of the Batman-themed rides. That's when I noticed the empty lot. I looked down at my map. Then looked back up to the lot. Then at the map. Back to the lot. You know what I'm getting at, Six Flags proprietors.

Green Lantern hasn't even been built yet.

After this bummer, I did go on to enjoy many other rides. But during my stay, there were a few more let-downs that, sadly, increased my loathe for you.

Déjà Vu: Not operating.

X2: Broke down 4 times, increasing my wait time to 2 hours. (TOTALLY worth it, but screw you anyway.)

Tatsu: Only admitting FlashPass holders, an additional cost of $41.

Perhaps I should have checked your website, as I see now that it does list which rides are currently running or, in the case of Green Lantern, EXISTING. But I might suggest the following:

• If your ride is down, please advertise that fact on a sign that is near (preferably in front of) the admission booth.

• If your ride is "coming soon," add that phrase to the perky, neon-clad pre-show performer script.

• If your ride is going to cost park-goers $101 to ride (plus parking), make sure it ends with a cigarette and calls me the next morning.

Overall, I did have a fantastic time. There were plenty of rides that had me screaming like a little girl. (Again, a good thing.) But unfortunately, your mountain was not as magical as you had claimed. I would have preferred a more honest slogan, like "We spent all of our money on advertising, so don't expect our rides to work."

I reject you. I am unamused. And I will never come back again...before checking your website.

Wheeeeeeeeee-ing all the way home,
A copyrider

Dear Word-Butchers of the World,

Irregardless of what you believe, I am here to reiterate again what I consider to be a rising problem in the year two thousand and eleven.

But before I do, let me ask you this – did you notice anything wrong with my first sentence?

Of course you didn't. And THAT is why I'm writing.

People make mistakes. It's human. In writing, it happens all the time. I'm sure my letters could use a proofreader's eye (although too many negative comments may result in a loathe letter of its own, so proofreaders be warned).

Piddly mistakes are not the topic here. Neither is sloppy grammar. I am writing to direct attention to some key words and phrases that you insist on pronouncing incorrectly. Errors I am begging you to fix now. Because they are making my ears bleed. And my mom won't stop writing to me with examples.

Here is just a short list of repeat offenders, followed by some important notes. 

Stop saying:
Irregardless

Why:
There is no such word. The correct word is "regardless." Save the "ir" for words you understand, like "dirt" and "squirrel." 


Stop saying:
PIN number

Why:
PIN = personal identification number. So what you are really saying is "Please enter your personal identification number number." And that makes you a DUM dum. 


Stop saying:
2011 (pronounced "two thousand and eleven")

Why:
The year we live in does not contain a decimal point, as your "and" indicates. It is pronounced "two thousand eleven." My guess is that you also write out mortgage checks that say "one thousand and five hundred and twenty-five dollars and 75/100." And for that you should be evicted. 


Stop saying:
Repeat that back

Why:
By repeating something, it has already come back. Ditch the "back." Much like the "number number" offense above, you are making another boo-boo. (Also stupid: Reiterate again.) 


Stop saying:
"After the meeting, people conjugated in the parking lot."

Why:
Just look it up.

I wish I could go around the world and highlight all of the people who are mistakes, but I can't. So instead, I have highlighted these common errors. Please refer to this list whenever you feel the need to open your mouth and speak. I appreciate it. My mom appreciates it.

See you next slip-up,
Anomynous Anonymous

Dear Man Who Sucks at Starbucks,

In all my years of standing in lines, I've never met quite so clever a line-cutter as you. The method to your mannerlessness? I don't believe you realized you were doing anything wrong. So, really, you're not very clever at all. You're just an idiot. 

The scene:

The hustle and bustle at the Lex. Ave. Starbucks on a weekday morning is typical. Most patrons are repeat customers, and have their usual ridiculously-named orders memorized, ready to spout out to the next available cashier. Each drink order takes an estimated 18 hours to pronounce. And if you add an artisan breakfast panini? Fuggetaboutit.

That said, it's a chunk of time that I account for as part of my morning commute, and a ritual for which I have developed a certain level of tolerance.

Then I met you.

The insolence:

I noticed you in line while I was waiting for my own obnoxious beverage. When it was your turn at the register, you stepped out of line and let the person behind you go next. You said "Go ahead, I'm waiting for someone and I'm not sure what he wants to order." The lady behind you smiled, and stepped up to place her order.

But here it comes. The official moment that, in my mind, you became a buffoon.

You stepped back INTO line behind her and continued to wait for your friend.

After about five or six repetitions of this little two-step, I just stood there and laughed. You were repeatedly cutting the line. Letting the person in back of you go ahead, then getting back into line in front of the next person. And out and in and back and forth...accompanied by some other convincing moves, like balancing on your tiptoes and looking toward the front door to see if your friend was on his way.

I wondered how the plot would unfold.

That's when your friend finally arrived and joined you. At the front of the line.

Smiling to myself, I grabbed my chai, walked out the door and let the dozen sleepy, grumpy and thirsty New Yorkers in back of you take it from there.

The moral:

What's a moral to a man with no morals? I'll simply say this – please don't stand in the consumer line if you're not ready to consume. It's terribly rude. Besides, you never know what loather with a laptop may be lurking nearby.

Forever your cup o' Joe foe,
A customer who's always right