Dear High School Girl Applying for a Job at the Coffee Shop

Here’s a helpful tip for you: When your shorts are so tight that they are seriously affecting the way you walk, then they are too small for you.

Hope this helps. Good luck with the application!
Ron

Dear Coldstone Creamerists

When you sing upon receiving a tip in your tip jar, it’s a disincentive to other customers who might want to tip.

When you threw in an extra brownie to my small “like it”-sized ice cream yesterday, I thought “Oh, that was nice. Maybe I’ll throw something in the tip jar.” Then the previous customer tipped you and you started singing. To the tune of The Brady Bunch. And it embarrassed both you and me.

However, since I was paying with a credit card I thought maybe I’d be safe just adding a bit on to the slip. I was hoping you didn’t have a song crafted to that situation, something like:

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale
A tale of an awesome tip!
That we got from this guy right here
When he signed his credit-card slip!

Fortunately, I added the $1 to the bill and didn’t get a peep from you or your cohort. For that, I am grateful.

Thanks,

Joel

Dear Post Office

Where to start?

To be honest, I can’t even think of a place to start. Perhaps that you chose a “postal annex” 10 miles away to be my “local post office” when a post office exists a mile down the road from my house.  Perhaps it’s rejecting mail to my mailbox the first week when my address was clearly on my mailbox, claiming there was no receptacle.  Perhaps that you’ll hold mail that fits in my mailbox at the “annex” one time, but then take another piece of mail the same size that says, “FRAGILE! DO NOT BEND!”, fold it in half, and shove it in the next. Perhaps that your writing on our slips is illegible, and often confusing (“To me, from me? I don’t remember sending myself a piece of mail”). Perhaps it’s that you don’t always tell me what kind of mail I have waiting at the “annex” on these slips of paper.

Ah: perhaps today is a good place to start: I walk in, with a slip of paper, a motorcycle helmet, a pair of gloves, a backpack, and wearing what is obviously a motorcycle jacket.  I give you the slip of paper (which for once has an actual name on it, instead of my own zip code), and you take me a box, which is oddly insured, and yet looks like a train ran over it.  This conversation followed:

Post Office Worker:  <Admiring box that’s beat to hell> Here you go.

Me: <Looking at beat to hell box, then looking at backpack> Um, can I pick that up another time? I can’t fit that in my backpack.

Post Office Worker:  Then why did you come in?

Me: Because I didn’t know what kind of package I was getting.

Post Office Worker: <Patronizing> Weeeeellllll, OK….

I seem to recall the last time I was a little late in picking up a package:  You chewed me out (in front of others, no less)  for not picking it up on time, and then scolded me:  “Well, next time you’re not going to pick up your mail for a few days, let us know“.

To quote on Oscar Leroy: “I pay your salary”.    And I’m more than willing to pay the salary you get for your job, which is in all likelihood larger than mine.  But it would be nice to not be treated like a complete moron.

Thanks,

Adam

Dear Red Sox Game Attendees Who Sat Behind Me

Great game today, eh? Or, I guess I should maybe say “Oh my gawd, wicked pissah”. Am I right?

As we were leaving, I noticed you dropped something. I tried to return it but you were already gone, so I’ll just reproduce it here so you have a copy if you ever happen to find this blog.

It looks like a to-do list of some sort; I’ve taken the liberty of checking off things you’ve done already, to save you the trouble of trying to remember (that was, after all, a lot of beer you had consumed). You’ll note that there are a few items that are not checked off. I do hope you’re able to get to them before the end of the day.

Things To Do At the Game Today

[x] Yell loudly
[x] Come up with funny name for Papelbon, then yell
    said name throughout the entire ninth inning.
    Idea: "PapelBONE".
[x] Drink lots of beer
[x] Yell at Papelbon for not striking batter out already
    after only two pitches.
[x] Drink lots of beer
[x] Cheer for Red Sox half-heartedly, while placing
    bets on them grounding out.
[x] Discuss (loudly) how Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo is
    the best movie ever.
[x] Discuss (loudly) how Joe Dirt is the best movie
    ever.
[x] Drink lots of beer
[x] Swear (loudly) in front of the eight-year-old who
    will be sitting behind me.
[x] Affect Boston accents
[x] Lose Boston accents while conversing below a yell
[x] Rarely converse below a yell
[x] Express love for Yankees while at game.
    Sub-item: discuss how Yankess fans would be better
    at cheering.
[x] Discuss sexual organs loudly
[x] Yell "PapelBONE" five times in the top of the
    ninth, then immediately ask friends who is pitching,
    what the score is, and what inning it is.
[x] Make sure to say "are you retahded?" at least once
[ ] Contract an STD from fellow game-watchers
[ ] Shoot self in head

Hope this makes it into your hands, I know I hate it when I lose stuff.

Have a good one!

Joel

Dear Middle-Aged Man with Full-Sized Headset and Giant Microphone sitting behind me at the Coffee Shop

Hi! You look like you’re busy, so I’ll make this quick. When you’re at home deciding if what you are going to be doing that day ought to be done at a coffee shop or not, I have a simple little test that might help at least a little. It goes something like this:

“Does this activity require a full-sized headset with giant microphone?”

If you answer “yes” then what you are going to be doing that day ought not to be done at the coffee shop.

Hope this helps,
Ron

Dear Coffee-Shop Bathroom Light Motion Sensor

I am all for energy conservation… believe me, I am. As such, I love the idea of the light turning off when there’s no one in the bathroom, and I understand that a motion sensor is a good way to control that. Here’s the rub: your timer is way too short. I’m guessing it’s about 15 seconds… 20 if I’m being really generous. I simply can’t completely my objective in that small a span of time. So time after time I find myself sitting there, waving my arms frantically like an idiot trying to turn the stupid light back on because you’ve decided I was too still. I refuse to bob and weave like Ray Charles while I’m in there, so how about you just learn a little patience, okay?

Thanks for everything,
Ron

Dear Baby Bunny

Here’s the deal: 10 times out of 10 Lawn Mower beats Baby Bunny. I realize you are young, and not yet that experienced with these things, but there are plenty of better places to hide than directly in front of me in the tall grass. You see, I have no interest in hurting you, but if I can’t see you, there’s not much I can do. So how about next time you abandon your hiding spot a little earlier, rather than waiting until I’m almost on top of you, and then springing out, giving me a heart attack, causing me to scream like a little girl, and making me feel like a complete idiot… deal?

Tell your friends,
Ron

P.S. Also, you are ridiculously cute

Dear Birds

Hey guys. It’s me, the guy who throws seed out in the yard.

Look.  I like you.  You look cute, hopping around my yard all day.  You tweet all day long, fly around, and  flee whenever I come outside.  But you’ve got to stop tweeting at 3:00 AM.  I know you’re excited that it’s summer. I know winter is really long.  But c’mon – there’s other animals that have a hard time resting when you are evidently tweeting through a megaphone.    I’m sure the neighbors down the street would appreciate it; there’s lots of junk cars and other crap to perch on.  I bet you those things even have mirrors; you birds really like to tweet at yourself in mirrors.

It’s nice we had this talk.  I look forward to your vigorous tweeting tomorrow – sometime around 7:00 AM.

Dear “CTO”

When I tell you that nslookup is broken, please do not respond with, “Well it usually works.”  That nslookup is unreliable describes precisely HOW it is broken.  Use dig, or don’t bother contacting me with your problems.  Your insistence on using a broken tool and subsequently complaining that things “aren’t working” wastes my time and demonstrates your ignorance.

TIA,
/pg 

Dear 40+ year old guy at the coffee shop

If I feel creepy occasionally looking over at those high school girls, I don’t know what the heck you think you’re doing. It’s called subtlety, look it up. Idiot.

Hypocritically yours,
Ron