Letters to People I Hate

Dear Lady Shopping in a Hurry Today,

Don’t show me pictures from the sex books. It’s creepy. I’m not puritanical about sex and erotica, but I don’t want to know your opinion about the pictures in the new edition of The Joy of Sex. Don’t flip through the book while standing closer than necessary and say things like, “They used to all be sketches like this,” and shove the book at me. I also don’t know if any of the authors of the sex books are “good”. That is going to be a personal decision. Clearly you prefer sketches to the photographs of people, which you also chose to show me, but I don’t know you well enough to pick out authors you would like.

Don’t touch me either. Even if we weren’t surrounded by books about sexual pleasure, I still wouldn’t want you to pat me on the shoulder and call me sweetie. It’s inappropriate. Another things that is inappropriate: Buying sex books and puppets in the same trip. Why were you doing this? Is your sex lesson just after volunteering at the hospital? It puts strange ideas in our minds and you are already a little off.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear Nicholas Sparks,

You melodramatic, romance writing, motherfucker. Who the fuck do you think you are!? Jesus, fuck! I can’t even think straight after having read your interview with USA Today. I will say I’ve never read any of your books. Because I treasure my brain cells. If I’m going to kill them off, it will be with vodka not shit writing. 

I can say that about your writing because I have seen the plots to your novels turned movies. Unless “The Last Song” has some crazy twist where aliens invade and that’s how Miley’s character’s grandfather dies, it’s shit writing. It’s been done before and not by classical Greek writers. You aren’t Euripides. You aren’t Sophocles. You aren’t Shakespeare reincarnated and you can’t pick your OWN NOVEL when asked what is your favorite tale of youth. I already hated you for putting this crap on shelves and in movie theaters, but I figured the public deserves what it pays for. That interview pushed me over the edge.

From the interview: Asked what he likes in his own genre, Sparks replies: “There are no authors in my genre. No one is doing what I do.” Really? No one writes “love stories”? How about Atonement by Ian McEwan? Or Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. The second book is beautifully written, I am currently in the middle of the story and Patchett’s writing switches view points effortlessly. Unlike your stilted descriptions:

When they reached a quiet point in the conversation, Garrett leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and seemed to be savoring a silent moment for himself. While he was doing that, Theresa quietly put the used plates and napkins back into the basket to keep them from blowing into the ocean. When Garrett was ready, he rose from his seat.

BORED! “Seemed to be savoring”? “While he was doing that”? What a terrible transition. How about “As he relaxed” or ” While he took a moment for himself” or “Seeing him pull slightly away from her after opening up so much, Theresa busied her hands by putting away the used plates.” It isn’t that hard, and we all know how much you like writing to be easy. Jackass.

Back to other writers who do what you do. There is also Terms of Endearment by Larry McMurtry, but the movie adaptation won an Oscar, which none of your novels to movies have done. So really, he doesn’t do what you do, he does it better. Nicholas Evan’s The Horse Whisperer falls into your non-romance love story genre. Looks like you aren’t as alone as you thought.

My heart races as I think about your Cormac McCarthy comments. He doesn’t deserve your wrath. You hold back on James Patterson, but not the author of The Road. The man won a Pulitzer. Was the story too difficult for you to finish? Were the words too long? There is a love story in it as well, too bad he didn’t let a 17 year-old name the characters, maybe then he would be more of your caliber. I’m sure setting the novel on a beach would have been more your style as well. If only the apocalypse had left some better scenery. 

I think Roger Ebert put it best: To be sure, I resent the sacrilege Nicholas Sparks commits by mentioning himself in the same sentence as Cormac McCarthy. I would not even allow him to say “Hello, bookstore? This is Nicholas Sparks. Could you send over the new Cormac McCarthy novel?” He should show respect by ordering anonymously.

Keep your ego in your pants from now on will you? Your opinions on yourself are the only thing that disgust me more than your novels.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear Director of the U.S. Census Bureau,

You sent me a letter, so I thought it only polite if I responded with one of my own. Your letter stated that “about one week from now, (I) will receive a 2010 Census form in the mail.” It went on to ask me to fill out said form and mail it promptly. It told me about how important my involvement is and where money would go in my neighborhood. 

That’s all well and good, but I have a question. Why? Why did you send me this?

In with the census form I got in the mail a few days later, a similarly worded letter was included. This is your census form, we want to count the people, send it back right away, the government will give money to schools, for roads, to help the elderly, blah, blah, blah. And this letter was smaller, about half the size of the original. So less paper equals less money. And it didn’t even need its own envelope.

Do I really need a “warning letter” to let me know the census is coming? Especially one sent in the same manner as the census itself? If I don’t check my mail, I wouldn’t get either. I heard the radio commercials and saw the television ones. I knew the census was coming.

How much money did sending letters to every single household in the United States cost? I assume it wasn’t just a letter to me because you know I’m particularly lazy. The “Dear Resident” tipped me off. If you’re going to alert me to the coming census, where was my postcard alerting me to the alert? What about a plane with skywriting telling me about the post card? That would cover an entire neighborhood. Much cheaper. 

So thank you for my letter. Without it, I might have thrown away the envelope marked:

U.S. Census Form Enclosed

YOUR RESPONSE IS REQUIRED BY LAW

Sincerely,

Kelly

P.S.

I guess I spoke to soon about the postcard. I got it in the mail today, reminding me that the census had come and it was my duty  (by law!) to fill it out and mail it back. I will accept your sincere thanks for already providing my census information. I (kind of) understand that some people need lots of reminders to get something as simple as writing down their own name done. But can we figure out a way to waste less money and paper? I’m still a fan of the sky writing idea.

Dear reticent customer,

I am not a mind reader. When you come up to the counter, hand over a piece of paper with two book titles on it, and say a name, I assume you want me to look up the books and have given me the author’s last name. I assume this based on dozens of other customers who seem to have a daily word limit.

They come in with a title and author written on a scrap of paper, hand it to me, and look at me expectantly. As if I have every book in the store behind the counter. I’m lucky if everything is spelled correctly and the title belongs to that author. These people usually say nothing more than an author name. Wouldn’t want to waste too much of their daily word quota on the woman helping them find a book. While I struggle with their terrible handwriting, they tap their fingers on the counter. No need for them to speak up or answer my questions with more than grunts.

Back to you. I asked if the name you had given me was the author’s last name.

“No.” You said and glared at me, clearly I was an idiot.

“Okay, did you want me to look up these books for you?”

“No.” You said again and glared again. You stared at me. Why do you think I’m a mind reader? Clearly you are not a mind reader or you would see that I have no idea what you want. Why should I have the ability you don’t even have? Of course, I can speak in full sentences which you can’t seem to do. So maybe mind reading isn’t too far from that in your opinion.

You looked down at the paper again and up at me. I asked if you had ordered these books? That got me an angry yes. Victory! I had to ask your last name again which you reluctantly gave to me. Then I got you your books and you grunted and hustled off. If you had used a full sentence, or even a well worded sentence fragment, I would have gladly gotten you the books much more quickly.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear boy’s name,

I’m sorry you’re a girl and your parents decided to saddle you with a boy’s name. Sucks to be you. You are in your early twenties and should have come to terms with your uniqueness by now. Plus, more than one of my co-workers thinks your name is cute and better as a girl’s name. So, I really don’t feel bad for you.

I’m not sorry I asked you for your ID, your credit card was unsigned and it’s store policy. Usually people thank me, not signing is their way of saying please check my ID. It would be more helpful if they just wrote that in the signature line, but this isn’t about them. It’s about you.

I am sorry I asked you if the card was yours. You were so reluctant and slow about getting out your license, the question just came out. Usually when a woman with a credit card bearing a man’s name is hesitant to take out her ID, the card belongs to her husband. When that is the case we aren’t supposed to use the card for the sale unless the hard holder is present. So I asked if it was yours in case you would have to get out a different card while you were already digging around in your purse. I really was trying to help.

But you took it as an affront.

“Yes,” you snapped, whisking out your ID. “I get asked that all the time.” Then you heaved a sigh and complained about your parents giving you a name commonly reserved for a boy.

“Sometimes I think if I’m indignant enough people won’t ask me for an ID,” you said and looked at me with your eyebrows raised. Good luck with that, I thought as I handed you back your license. Clearly it isn’t working. I had already said I was sorry during the transaction. Being indignant wasn’t going to make me feel bad for your plight. Change your name if you’re tired of the questioning looks. At the very least change the name on your credit cards. I had a customer who had gotten “Prof” put in front of his name on his card. You could easily get one with your first initial instead of your entire first (boy’s) name.

If you keep up the indignation, you’ll have a long life ahead of you. And James doesn’t want you to let other people get to you. He thinks it’s bad for your health.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear customers with poor register etiquette,

I have compiled a short how to manual on accepted check out behavior. It is evident many of you have never worked in retail. The average person does not need a lesson in putting items on a counter and then paying for those items. Probably because it’s not a difficult task. But there are those of you who require a lesson in basic customer service interactions. This is for you.

1. There is no register at the side counter of the front register. I am standing there because it affords me a view of the information desk and the registers. That way I can converse with my co-workers and keep an eye on any customers in need of assistance. Do not walk up to the counter (that clearly has no register or register-like equipment on it) and put your books down. There isn’t even a computer monitor there to mistake for a cash register. It’s an empty counter; at most it has a stack of books and my latte with an extra shot of espresso to help me deal with people like you.

2. When you come up to the counter do not put your stack of 20 books on the grey pad next to the scanner. It gives me no room to scan the books. The pad is our demagnetizer, it’s not some magical scale that weighs your books and give me a price. Put your books on the counter so as I scan, I can place them in a pile on the grey pad instead of reaching around and putting them by another register or in front of you. Conversely, if you are only purchasing two or three books don’t hand them to me. Put them on the counter and I can pick them up myself. Do not hand them to me one at a time, either.

3. So your books are being rung up and you want to pay. That is all well and good, but don’t hold out your credit card the second you set the books on the counter. I will not take it from you. You can hold it out until all the blood drains from your hand. I still won’t take it. I am busy and don’t want your card yet. Remember how the grey pad doesn’t give me an automatic total price? Give me a minute, I’m not scanning and typing for my health. I will take the card after I tell you the total. And don’t hold out your hand all grabby to get the card back as I’m swiping it. You were so interested in giving it to me, let me hold it for a few seconds.

4. The other option in paying for you people is counting out your money onto the counter and leaving it an inch in front of you. Then I have to reach across the counter; usually over your books or bag, sometimes around your giant purse. Put it in my hand. At the very least slide it halfway across the counter, especially if there are coins involved. I will hold out my hand for you to put the money in. Don’t look off into the distance and ignore me.

5. The next step in the check out procedure is a question which seems to baffle you. “Would you like a bag?” It’s not difficult. Do you want to carry your books in a bag or in your hand? Don’t purse your lips, wrinkle your nose, and hem and haw about the decision. Do not say, “Of course” in a snooty voice after I ask this question if you only have one or two books. Lots of people don’t want/need bags for only a few items. Don’t make me want to cut you.

6. The receipt. I will give it to you. I promise. Do not ask me for it if it hasn’t even come out of the register. Do not take the signed credit card receipt because you are in a hurry. DO NOT rip the receipt from the register. I hate that most of all. Slow down, you’re at a terrible angle to be pulling on the thin piece of paper with your sales info on it. You’ll get it soon enough. Maybe I’ll put it in that bag you took 5 minutes to decide to get.

Lesson over. I hope you took notes. If you can put even one of these into action I will hate you one sixth less that I hate you now.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear Lewis Black,

It hurts me to do this. I think you are hilarious. You are one of my favorite comedians and I have always watched your stand up shows, even reruns. You’re so angry, with the finger jabbing and the ranting. You’ve done bits on the ridiculousness of organized religion and government. You seem to hate everything and everyone. Nothing is sacred, everything is to be mocked. You were a hero to me. It was beautiful.

Now all of that is gone.

Today at work I was shelving the metaphysics books. It’s not my favorite section. There are 4 types of books on the general metaphysics shelves. They are all absurd.

• books on unleashing the power inside you to improve your relationships/work/life
• books on secret societies in America
• books on fictional beings (angels, vampires, werewolves, Sasquatch, fairies, aliens, etc.) and
• books on psychics and the afterlife

Your name was associated with the last one. I thought maybe the Lewis Black who wrote the intro wasn’t you. Maybe it was another Lewis Black, some crazy guy with an eighth grade education and a lisp. It’s got to be a common name, I flipped to the first page of the book. It was you. You wrote the introduction to a book written by a “psychic” in which he tells the story of how he found out he was “psychic” and some stories about his “psychic revelations”. How the hell am I supposed to take you seriously as a comedian now? You find religion disingenuous and have mocked the deeply held beliefs of millions of people:

“The Catholics have it right. I love what they do. That whole ‘the pope’s infallible’ this is tremendous. Let’s face facts: If you took someone with no religious leanings whatsoever and locked that person in a psych ward with nobody around and no stimuli, the Catholic religion is exactly what he’d come up with.

‘Listen to this. There’s this old guy in a dress, see? He wears all these great costumes and whatever he says, about anything from birth control to what to watch on television, that’s it, ‘cause pope knows best. He can’t lift his head up, but, fuck, he’s a genius.’ “

or:

“Who knew that the devil had a factory where he made millions of fossils, which his minions distributed throughout the earth, in order to confuse my tiny brain?”

And now I’m supposed to believe some guy can see the future because you say so? People who have died stick around earth to whisper in his ear and tell him what’s going to happen? Even if ghosts did exist, why would they have access to what’s going to happen in the future? How are the two related at all? It makes no sense.

This three page introduction undermines your entire on stage persona. You wrote about how a friend of yours knew this “psychic” first and the guy told her you would be famous some day. But (and here’s the kicker) she had never told the “psychic” about you! Well holy shit, sign me up.

If the intro was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, you failed. So, I have to think you are serious. Now every time I see you on stage pointing out the ludicrousness of our president or global warming or scientology, all I’ll be able to think is, “Yeah, but you believe is psychics.” And I hate that.

Sincerely,

Kelly

Dear guys who wanted to shovel my driveway,

Do I have a sign on my house saying “Please knock as loudly as possible until someone answers the door”? I’m sure I don’t and yet you pounded on my front door so hard, I thought you were banging on the metal garage door. My entire house echoed with your absurd knocking. And I was in bed.

Granted, it was after noon, but only by about 8 minutes. And I like to sleep in. A lot. If sleeping could be labelled as a hobby it would be my number one choice. I was snuggly and warm and had the day off of work. You probably didn’t know that. But knocking one is enough. I have already covered this. If no one answers, go away. Maybe I work nights and sleep during the day, it’s not unheard of.

Although I tried to ignore your pounding, it had woken me from a sound sleep, and I was grumpy. Maybe you started with the doorbell like that horrible woman from AT&T, I probably slept through it. But the pounding! That was something she could never manage. I started to think something terrible had happened. Maybe my husband got into an accident. Maybe he was being rushed to the hospital and one of his co-workers had stopped by to pick me up.

I threw on a sweatshirt and rushed to the side door. No one was there. I saw a guy in an old green pick up truck blocking the end of my driveway. I gave him a quizzical look and he motioned for you to come around from the front of the house.

“You want us to shovel your driveway?”

I took a second to reply, “No!” This is what all the noise was about!? I thought someone was bleeding all over my lawn and you wanted me to call the cops. It was about shoveling? You asked if I was sure and I said yes. Now go away. You gave me a look like I was a tiny woman and wouldn’t be able to shovel a driveway of this magnitude. You were kind of right, at the time of your soliciting we didn’t even own a shovel. But there was no way I was going to pay you to do the job.

Try handing out flier or business cards. If I want you I can call you. Don’t wake me up. That will get a “no” everytime.

Sincerely,

Kelly