Open Letters: Asshole Edition

You might say it's been a weekend.

Dear Jackass,

When you attempt to follow me into a secured ATM vestibule by jamming your foot in the door when I open it, please do not be surprised when I ask you to use your own card to gain entry. It's 11pm on a Saturday night, there are no open stores or houses within shouting distance, and I am not an idiot. The proper response to my request is "Oh, sure" not "What are you, some kind of paranoid fucking bitch?"

I hope your mother/sister/wife/girlfriend gets mugged by someone for whom she held open the door.

No Love,
Me

*****

Dear Overgrown Frat Boy,

I'm so glad that you and your cronies have discovered Bootie. I know it seems unbelievable that a club this good should exist so far east of the Sunset strip, but it does. Yes, the music really is awesome. Yes, the drinks really are strong. And yes, I AM a fat girl dancing front and center on stage next to the DJ (and looking damn fine doing it, too).

Try to contain your shock next time, m'kay?

Pointing at me, whispering to the girl hanging on you and then making a big theatrical production of snickering is really not necessary, you juvenile prick. It is only out of respect for Party Ben that I did not walk to the front of the stage and kick your smug, capped teeth right out of your face.

Grow up.

No Love,
Me

P.S. A special note to the blonde bitch who kept jabbing her elbow into my back and staring daggers at me: Yes, three of us did intentionally dance ourselves between you & your friends and Party Ben. He's working and doesn't need your drunk asses grinding up on him or slamming into the table and making his CDs skip. Buy him a drink after the set. Much good may it do you!

*****

Dear Plumber Chauvinist Pig,

When you have been called to my house to clear a blockage on the common sewer line, I expect that you will do a thorough job. (I also expect that you'll talk to me and not to my male neighbor who has been at work all night and doesn't know when his bathroom started backing up nevermind when mine did but let's start with the basics, shall we?) In this case, a thorough job means snaking the sink drain, the shower drain AND the common line. The landlord has called you to my house before, you know that the drains are old and problematic.

So, when I ask you to snake the shower before you pack up your equipment (since I noticed you hadn't done it) please do not tell me that "Everything costs money, sweetheart." When I calmly ask how much this basic preventative service will cost, saying "Twenty dollars, cash" will send up a huge, waving, red flag.

Please don't be surprised when I ask you to add that $20 to the receipt you're handing me to sign and and to provide me with a copy of said receipt. The response to my reasonable request is to do so, NOT to call me a "fucking bitch" and then scream obscenities at me.

No, you may not tell me to "fucking deal" and leave without giving me a receipt. No, you may not scribble a receipt on the back of my grocery list when I just watched you write a receipt that has a carbon copy. No, you may not accuse me of trying to "work outside the system" (wtf?) when I tell you that I am entitled to a receipt.

You tried to con yourself into an extra $20 and got caught. By a girl. Deal.

Shut your fucking mouth and give me a copy of the receipt.

No Love,
Me

Comments

[ninja rad]

wtf!! yrr the second person i know of who was at bootie this weekend that i did *not* see! i swear i went to some alternative universe from 10 - 1....weird. so weird. and i danced my ass off to party ben!

[Adri]

Oy. The idiots are out in force! Miss ya.

[Harris]

Hmm.

Anonymous IP. Fake e-mail address. Painfully unimaginative username, and a drive-by troll who doesn't even have the metaphorical sack to spell out the word "cunt" when they're trying to insult someone?

You're a fine waste of the three minutes and thirty bucks it cost to conceive you, "thin mint".