An Open Letter To The Host Of The Golden Harvest Hawkeye Huddle Post-Game Radio Show

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shutupshutupshutupshutup shut the fuck up you fucking fuck. No one - NO ONE - wants to hear you interrupt the discussion of the key defensive plays of the game with your little story about you and your wife watching We Are Marshall. No one.

Thanks!

Dweeze

An Open Letter To The Woman Sweeping At The Tanger Outlet McDonald's This Afternoon

You know, the thing that really ticked me off wasn't when you asked if my grandson and I were having a fun afternoon. While I don't think it's particularly exceptional, I know it is probably out of the ordinary for a 48-year old man to have a five-year old son. And there is certainly a ton of gray in my goatee and what there is of my hair. I wasn't pleased, mind you, but that isn't what really ticked me off. What really ticked me off is the fact that, after I icily said "He's my son" (and yes, it was icily) you didn't apologize and disappear. In fact, you stayed, without apology, and tried to engage us in conversation.

Now, I realize that McDonald's doesn't really pay you friendly grandmother types to sweep the floor. You're there to be friendly, to make sure the customers are enjoying their individual McDonaldland experience. So engaging people in conversation is your real job. However, an important component of that job is realizing that there are some people who do not want to be engaged in conversation, particularly after you've semi-insulted them. I'm personally content sharing my McDonaldland experience only with my son, thank you, and don't feel the need to discuss the weather or the meal or our day with a total stranger. That you weren't able to figure this out, even after I replied to your offer to get us anything else with a dismissive "No thanks, we don't need anything from you" (and yes, it was dismissive), that you still tried to engage us in conversation after that, would suggest that you aren't that good at your job. So next time we come in, think twice about coming up to engage us in conversation.

Thanks

More Open Letters

To The Lady In The Silver Gray Corolla In Front Of Me At The 965-Commerce Drive Intersection:

If the light turns yellow and the rear tires of your car are already in the intersection, you don't have to stop. Indeed, at that point it's probably for the best that you keep going forward, because the person behind you waiting at the light has probably A: seen the light turn yellow, B: seen your car in the intersection, C: assumed that you weren't some sort of idiot who was going to hit the brakes and back up out of the intersection and therefore D: gunned it in order to make it through the yellow light, thus resulting in a near collision.

Thanks

The Guy Who Almost Rammed Your Car This Afternoon

Open Letter To The Guy Driving The Combine Down Highway 6 This Morning

Maybe, just maybe, 8:00 am is not the best time to be driving a big-ass piece of farm equipment with the max speed of about 20mph down a major secondary road. Maybe.

Dweeze

An Open Letter To The Chick-Fil-A Employee Working The Register Closest To Panda Express Around 1:00 P.M. On Wednesday, April 25, 2007

I don’t know this for a fact, but I don’t believe the woman standing in line in front of me wanted to discuss the last haircut you got for five minutes before you took her order. Yes, she was wearing the uniform from one of the mall’s hair styling salons, but rather than signaling that she wanted to discuss the last haircut you got, to me that would have signaled that she didn’t want a conversation having anything to do with hair on her lunch break. And you know what, you could have thanked me when I gave you the dollar back after you handed me two fives, a one, and three quarters and said “Your change is $10.75.” Finally, I apologize for getting a touch testy when you handed me a small coke instead of a large coke and then tried to cover up for it by saying “That’s the size coke you get with a regular combo”, but I really wasn’t willing to overlook that statement particularly because you had just told me my order took so long because of the large fries I requested with the jumbo-sized combo. I almost said something to your manager, because he was standing right beside me out front restocking napkins and ketchup, but I figured I didn’t have to after he looked at me, rolled his eyes, and shook his head when your response to my statement that I had paid for the king-size combo was “Oh. That’s right.” You tried to blame your overall ineptitude on somebody's order fifteen minutes prior to my visit - "I'm sorry," you said, "but I've been flustered ever since that guy wanted cheese on his sandwich" - but I'm betting flustered is probably the way you go through life, not a one-time thing.

Dweeze