Open Letters

Dear Route 48 bus,

Would it kill you to be even slightly more consistent with the schedule? Last week three Route 57 buses, two Route 5, and two Route 17 buses came and went before you arrived. I could have walked the few blocks to work several times over but it was hot 48. It was real hot. And I just wanted to arrive at work fresh, without sweat pooling at the small of my back and brimming on my upper lip. I just wanted a nice, cool, quick ride to work. It's not like you take me places for free. I'm totally going to hook you up with my token. Sometimes you're there as I round the corner, stopped at the light like you are waiting just for me. I love those mornings. I consider it a miracle that everything in my morning could have come together to find you at the corner as I arrive, especially since your actual schedule is a complete mystery. But that day 48, you just wouldn't come. You left me outside in the hot sun with a stout talkative blond woman who volunteered that she was going through menopause. She had a book with her but she didn't crack it open to pass the time in silence. She instead kept stepping out into the middle of the street and providing me breaking news on the non-48 vehicles approaching us. I was baking in my clothes, rivulets of sweat running down my back, black pants heating my ass. It was a delight 48. But seriously, plus or minus 2-5 minutes from the published schedule would be a staggering improvement. It would mean so much to me.

Ava

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Dear creepy Italian guy at the panini place,

I love the chicken sandwiches you guys make there. Wanna know why I haven't brought any of my friends and don't come around that often? You're freaking creepy. You stand outside the door like a bouncer at a bar and hover over the people eating outside like they are furniture shopping. Relax. No one wants you to be part of their meal. We just want to eat. There are 10 tables in this place; 5 when the weather is bad. No one is suffering from lack of service or attention. We are not guests at your house. Please go in the back and balance the books or something. Seriously.

Ava

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Dear whiny-ass guy at work,

Shut the fuck up. I had a dream last night that I arm-barred you across the neck and then left you handcuffed in the middle of our office floor. It was an awesome dream. I'm tired of your failure to accept responsibility for circumstances of your own invention. I'm tired of hearing your negativity. I'm tired of hearing you talk about everyone else when you haven't done shit. I'm tired of you deflecting attention from your own lack of performance by talking about others. I'm tired of hearing anecdotal accounts of former awesomeness and all the kick-ass stuff you plan to do. You can't back that up my friend and 99.99999% of people who tell stories like that about themselves are full of poo. Real kick-ass people are too busy kicking ass to tell stories about it. I'm tired of you telling me you want to help me with things like taking out the recycling. Don't tell me what you want to do bitch. Just do it. And it's not my job. You aren't helping me, you're just taking out the trash.

If you're wondering where this is coming from, you were irritating from Day 1. But because I was probably irritating when I first arrived, I willfully suspended judgement. When I started, I didn't know which end was up and asked a lot of questions and took a lot of other's time. I wanted to pay that kindness and understanding forward. I still kind of do, even though you are turning out to be a total douche. I think it might help with my black heart that longs for you to fail. It's going to get better because I'm going to be better about handling you. I'm going to start carrying my cuffs though, just in case I dream the future now. It would so be worth it to put a knee in your back and tweak that wrist to cuff you. You'd be my only mark on an otherwise pristine record. I might even get some time off and some free counseling. I probably need to stop mentally rehearsing how to quickly and safely take you down to cuff you.

Seriously man, please don't force me to tell you about yourself. If I have to make that much of an emotional investment in you, I will be off in your ass with both feet. Oh, and friend, know your audience. I know a lot of people. If you're going to talk about me behind my back like a 15 year old girl, you should probably figure out if I know any of those people. Chances are, if they do, they totally love me and not only will they now not like you, they are going to tell me. We're all too old for crap like that. Grow the fuck up.

Ava