Look, I know things are busy for you right now, so you probably won't even hear my cries over the din of all of the mail you're processing, however I have two comments:
- "package tracking" != "delivery confirmation!" Please stop trying to confuse the issue
- "Express Mail" my fat, pale, hairy ass!
In short, my package should have been here overnight 1 week ago (even giving you the benefit of the doubt). I have no visibility into your process. I just want my damn package!
Dear Random Cyclist Who Likes to Draft Me on Moffett Park Blvd.:
First off, I am greatly honored by your obvious trust in my abilities, but I have two questions for you as well:
- Dude, seriously, what the fuck? That shit is dangerous done with people you know how to anticipate, but a random stranger? Yes, yes, I'm in awe of your mad skillz and your obviously far stronger cojones, but what the hell is wrong with you?
- We've done this a few times now, you know I turn left at Borregas, do you not realize that when I look behind me I'm trying to gauge the likelihood of being mauled by a death machine as I enter the lane? Seeing your smiling face blocking my view is not helpful.
In short: thanks, now please back the fuck off!
You Don't Even Know My Name
Dear Random Other Cyclist I'd Never Seen Before:
I'm sorry my passing you was such an affront to your machismo that you felt you had to be a complete prick about it. But let's compare:
- I passed you, on the left, letting you know I was there, ("On your left")
- You passed me, on the right (seriously, are you dense?) with nary a peep, at a stop sign, where you immediately made a left turn across my path!
I nearly ran right into you, asshat! If I'd been aware of what you were about to pull I might have out of spite. I hope your manhood has been vindicated. Now kindly cut that shit out.