An Open Letter to the Man that Comes to my Office to Wash My Car:

Author's note to the Reader:

Gentle Reader, this posting is meant to be read with a jocular and upbeat tone! Jokey, and with a smiling inflection.


Dear Man that Comes to my Office to Wash my Car for $20.00,

Please. Come in! Oh, no. Take a seat on the leather chair in front of my desk! Never mind that it's become an extension of the filng cabinet and is absolutely packed with pending files! I realize you're hot and sweaty, but I'm not worried! After all, the chair is made out of leather, so it's probably waterproof. And I'm pretty sure the only non-laser printing on the pages of all of those documents in all of those separate files, is the signatures of the rest of the lawyers who have signed correspondence...so I guess if you get the files all wet with your sweat of a job-well-done for someone else, the only thing that will run are the signatures!

I guess what I'm trying to say is, you shouldn't be at all worried about sweating all over my furniture or my files! No harm done!

Oh, no! I wasn't in the middle of doing anything important! Even when you come and stand in my doorway when I'm on the phone with someone else, it's no bother! Really! I can totally concentrate on someone yelling at me on the phone, while someone else hovers over my shoulder! It's called multitasking and it's a required skill in today's fast-paced world of e-mail and power lunches and cellular phones! And no one can say that I'm not "with it." After all, I am a fresh-faced young go-getter, making a name for himself in that dog-eat-dog market! What's that idiom they're always knocking around about dog-eat-dog? Oh, right! You're gonna love this one -- it's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and I'm wearing milkbone underwear!

I like when you smile. :) It gives me a chance to see your impressive...what do they call that? A "grille?" I guess you could say you realy put your "money where your mouth is!" Heh-heh..heh? Get it?

I guess we should get down to business, shall we? What is it, pray tell, that I can do for you?

Do I need my car washed... do I need my car washed... hmmm.

You know, I'm torn on that one.

See... you do a pretty good job, I'll give you that. You use that shiny stuff on my tires... I like when you make my tires look wet and shiny. It makes me feel like I have a really fast car! Which I do! And you do wash the inside of my windows. I really hate doing that -- you know how it is in Miami! I might as well be cleaning the inside of my oven...while it's on!

And yeah, you do get that thin layer of grime off my car that the high-pressure wash at the Mobil Station that's about a block from my office, and about thirteen dollars cheaper than you doesn't get off...

::intake of air::

Buuuuut... whenever you ask me what time I need the car by, and I tell you six o' clock...

And you don't get it back to me until 6:45 on a Friday night... and I've been waiting for 45 minutes... for my car. To which you have the keys...

Hmmm. That makes me a little annoyed... Oh, that, and the fact that you left black greasy smudges on the inside of my door once, that sort of frosted my cookies and... you're gonna laugh at this one - -

There was that time one of your guys broke off one of the plastic parts holding the Passenger Seat to the floor...and put the part in the map compartment, so I wouldn't know! That was a real hoot! Especially because I haven't owned that car for more than six months! And things are already being snapped off!

Oh, don't make that face! You do good work! It's just, you know, I get a little mad when you're breaking things in my car, and making me stay an extra hour at work...and charging me twenty bucks for the pleasure.

I guess I'm gonna have to tell you the same thing I've told you every Tuesday and Friday for the past month-and-a-half... "I'm good."

Awwww. C'mon! I know you'll be back next Tuesday! We can have this same discussion then, okay? And in the meantime, guy, thanks for making me feel bad for not paying an exhorbitant sum for you to put more swirls in my car's clear coat, and bust more plastic seat doo-hickies! You're breakin' my heart!

Yeah, maybe Tuesday. Okay? Great! See ya then!

Jesus.

Is everyone else as bored and stir-crazy as I am? I'm so fucking bored. Christ. I hate summertime. And I really need to shit or get off the potty. Time to fucking move. No, of course living on the beach isn't going to cure all my ills -- I'll be as hermit-like there as I am here. But whatever. Hopefully soon I'll come out of this post-breakup shell and get back to normal. I'm basically there, except for hot-and-cold lack of desire to do anything/inability to sit still.

And honestly? I guess it's time to buy myself a fucking house. That doesn't necessarily mean I'm roped into living in Miami for another two years. Why is it so hard to contact realtors to see some properties?! It's not hard, I just have some sort of deep-seated aversion to doing it, because I know it's going to mean a lot of work. Whatever.

Not like I'm doing anything else. I watch TV. Ugh. I'm so bored.

So fucking bored.

Endless consternation.

The coconuts are growing on the palm trees right outside my window. And it is virtually guaranteed that the building association will either not cut them down before the next hurricane, or will wait painfully close to the approach of Hurricane Yamazuki or whichever storm is up next to pummel the Gables.

And now we wait. And with each passing day, the furrows in my brow will crease ever so slightly deeper, as I watch the future-projectiles gain girth and weight.

And it causes me endless consternation.

Oops.

Well, the subject matter thing doesn't get me with prejudice, but maybe failure to state a cause of action is?