Over the past week, I have noticed a startling increase in the number of people who piss me off. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep … maybe it’s the lack of sex — wait, who am I kidding? It has nothing to do with me (insert awkward laugh here). Not even your sizeable lovehandles or your fake Coach can save you from the hot lunch you’re about to be served, and I promise you this one’s extra saucy.
Dear Belligerent New Haven Driver:
I’m really sorry for getting in your way today. I was just walking to class, and in order to get to class, I had to cross the street, and in order to cross the street, I had to walk on the road and, inevitably by walking on the road, I ended up getting in your way. My obstruction of your driving path was made clear to me by the first time you honked your horn — I figure the second, third and even fourth honks were just innocent “hellos!” or “good luck today on your oral exam!” If that’s the case, I appreciate your support.
Otherwise, I apologize for being insensitive and not taking into account your frustration with the 5-7 seconds I set you back so that I could cross the street. Was this setback the culprit of a death in the ER or maybe a missed trade on Wall Street? Whatever it was that got your panties in a knot, I just want to say I’m sorry and I hope you can find it in your big, warm, New Haven heart to forgive me.
Dear Yale’s Very Own Captain Obvious:
Thank you, Captain Obvious, for having the professor clarify that he had indeed meant to write R=100, and not R=00, on our Econ 150 notes, especially since he had written R=100 on every other part. That gaffe really stumped me, and I’m glad you caught the subtle, and possibly deadly, mistake before it was too late.
Thank you, Captain Obvious, for correcting the TA when she accidentally added a negative sign to the Pythagorean theorem. If you hadn’t detected that boo-boo, I would have thought that everything I knew about triangles was, indeed, a fallacy and my therapist probably would have upped my dosage of lithium.
Thank you, Captain Obvious, for explaining that the scribbled margin note, “he was a lyrant,” was actually supposed to read as “he was a tyrant,” but due to the poorly crossed letter “t”, I spent all night looking up the meaning of the word “lyrant” — I just wish you had identified that confusing blunder earlier!
Basically, Captain Obvious, I just want to thank you for being so (hoaw should I put it?) obvious. I mean, God forbid that anyone, let alone a human being with a graduate degree, ever make a mistake while jotting something down on a chalk board. And God forbid that you utilize your power of deductive reasoning to rectify the mistakes in your head, instead of disrupting the class so that you can jerk off your ego by listening to your own voice. Luckily for us, your divine-like omniscience, power to discern “which one of these things is not like the other,” and ability to notice slight inconsistencies is so extraordinary that you share such life altering information with us bottom dwellers, so that we are able to make sense of all things wrong with the world.
I can’t thank you enough, Captain Obvious. It is because of because of good Samaritans like you that the world is a better, more obvious place.
Dear Girls Flocking Around A Single Guy at a Frat Party:
The scene: Standing in the presence of the man of your dreams, you’re intoxicated by the sensual musk in the air of his Axe deodorant body spray and the hint of stale beer on his breath. You just got your roots redone, your hair straightened, and you’ve picked out the perfect tunic to go with your oh-so-original “bejeweled top combined with jeans and high heel” look. While thanking God that you remembered to take the pill this morning (for your skin of course!), you readjust your clutch and wait for the right moment to respond to your knight in shining armor.
“Whattt colllllege are you ‘nnn?” he mutters in a attempt to sound like he actually cares.
You clear your throat to reply.
“I’m in JE.”
But wait — that wasn’t your voice. Stunned, you look around only to remind yourself that you’re in the company of 10 other girls, all equidistantly spaced around the boy like pledges gearing up for S-gAy-E’s semi-annual “Ookie Cookie” soiree. And you know what? You look pretty f–ing stupid.
Oh … I get it. Daddy never hugged you enough as a child? This must be one of those things; you know, where your thirst for acceptance from a boy is so strong that you all completely forget the fact that you are bombarding the man like a pack of rabid dogs in heat.
Wait. You are a pack of rabid dogs in heat.
And to pour even more salt on your proverbial wounds, it seems as though your man is paying more attention to the fat bitch next to you (aka your best friend). I’m sure the view of his back is thrilling, riveting, what some would even call awe-inspiring, but spare yourself the self-inflicted shame and walk away. I mean, even if the moon eclipses and Jupiter aligns with Mars, the most you could ever hope for is to tie his shoelace.
Joe Aphinyanaphongs darts between New Haven’s fenders when crossing Elm street.