I don't know if any of you have ever checked out McSweeney's Internet Tendency, but it's a great website/magazine put out by Dave Eggers that publishes comedic writings. I happened to be on the site trying to find out how to submit some work (read: ramblings), and came across a section of the website devoted to Open Letters written to people/things that would likely never respond (ie: Dear Little Children Who Play in the Alley and Like to Throw Stuff At My Car by Aimmee Dolby). I thought it was a pretty interesting concept I could incorporate into The Sky Is Falling, but I didn't know who to write to.

Today, I found the subject of my letter while driving to class because my laziness prevented me from walking—How lazy am I? Well, I go all the way to the gym to workout but refuse to pull the door open, instead hitting the wheelchair access button. If it doesn't register the first time, I will wait, and press the button again, wasting a solid minute, instead of just reaching out and opening the door. That's how lazy. Okay, back to your regularly scheduled programming—While looking for a parking spot in front of the building, I noticed a guy walking to his car. I thought, "Man I'm kinda hungry." I also thought, "Sweet, I'm just gonna take this guy's spot right in front of the building." Convenient, right? Wrong. The guy got in his car, turned it on, put it in reverse, and just sat there. For five minutes. I wound up having to go park farther away because this D-Bag (D is for Douche, Sue Grafton fans) was dicking around in his car and I was almost late. This isn't the first time this has happened to me, either. It happens almost daily. What is wrong with people? Just drive the fucking car! What the hell are they doing in there, while I am so clearly waiting with my blinker on? I figured I'd ask these goons in my very own Open Letter...

An Open Letter
To The D-Bag Who Gets in
His Car, Puts it in Reverse and Lingers
While I am Clearly Waiting for His Spot

April 23, 2007

Dear D-Bag Who Gets in His Car, Puts it in Reverse and Lingers While I am Clearly Waiting for His Spot,

We must have the exact same tastes and schedules. It seems we can't help but run into each other. No matter where I go: the gym, the mall, class, the Whole Foods in Bethesda, MD, there you are, sitting in your god damned car, with your reverse lights on, not moving a fucking inch. At first, I don't even realize it's you in the car. In fact, I usually get kind of excited about the fact that I just got such an excellent parking spot so conveniently! It's one of those rare moments in life where I feel pure triumph (I've been known to give a Johnny Drama "Victory Fist Pump" when I am sure there is no one looking). But then...you don't move, and I begin to get suspicious. Is it that D-Bag again? As I wait for five minutes, blinker on, waving my arms about angrily, hoping you will see them, I realize that yes, it is you. God damn it.

What the hell are you doing in there? I hope that isn't too personal of a question, but I just have to ask. For all the times you've made me late and/or ruined my little moment of triumph, I think I deserve to know. Are you triple and quadruple checking your mirrors (this is highly doubtful, because if you were you would inevitably have seen me there waiting with my blinker on for the past ten minutes)? Are you re-reading your entire 11th grade Driver's Ed manual to pick up any rules you may have forgotten? Are you whittling your ignition key out of fucking Balsa wood? Maybe you're using your protractor to pinpoint the exact location of 10 and 2 on the steering wheel before you head out, I don't know. Actually, I have no idea. So please, enlighten me. I am truly curious: what is so important that you have to do it while giving me false hope with your reverse lights on?

I used to think you didn't see me there, and so felt no rush to proceed. This is what prompted me to start the aforementioned angry arm waving. Alas, no dice. "Well," I thought, "maybe I'm in his blind spot." I then moved on to the tactic of pulling up a little bit, to make sure you see me there, and then reversing back to a safe distance so that you can pull out. But you still wouldn't reverse. This leads me to my current belief that you do, in fact, see me there, but you just don't give a shit.

Well sir, if that is the case, as I do believe it is, I have this to say to you: the gloves have been thrown, the hammer is coming down. Welcome to Thunderdome, bitch. The next time I see you there, cockily (snicker), sitting in a parking spot—a spot that by all rights of decency and human consideration, you should have reversed out of ten minutes ago—I am going to open my driver's side door, creep up to your car in a manner so stealthy that Tom Clancy will surely wish to write about, and shove a fucking potato in your exhaust pipe. That's right. You read it. I am sick and tired of your selfish dilly-dallying, and now you will reap the rewards of your constant douche-baggery.

Consider yourself warned.
Best Regards,

Adam J. Beaton

-Adam