Another Open Letter: Dear Asian Guy

Dear Asian Guy Near the Stairs at the Subway This Morning,

First let me please just say that I commend you. This is an exhausting city in every way: financially, emotionally, and physically. I often wonder how it is that people can afford to live here on minimum wage, and anyone who shows the tireless, sweat-stained vigor upon which this country was built gets a huge high five from me. Whether you're simply a high-school educated family man trying to earn his daily bread (spam?), or one of those “I was a surgeon back in Singapore” immigrants, I know little about your life except that it is filled with hard work and (I’m assuming, since you haven’t killed yourself) optimism.

On a more critical note, but one that I think might help you in your business affairs, let me tell you a little bit about me. At 9 o’clock in the morning, I am thinking about a lot of things. I am thinking about the day ahead and what it might contain. I think about whether or not blondes have more fun, and I think they probably do, but that their definition of fun probably isn't my definition of fun. I am thinking about Paul Potts. I am thinking, at 9 am, on my way to work, about the controversial issues such as Global Warming - is it a cause of man or nature? Something to ponder at least. I am thinking about whether anyone in Africa has actually stood in a river and taken a bath in the trunk-spray of an elephant like they always seem to do in the movies. I am thinking if blind people dream - what do they see? - are their dreams in audio as they have to reference to what things actually look like?. I am thinking about how when I was in elementary school I had was allowed to have blue high-lites in my hair for a few months, and how that blue hair was a pivotal moment in my life upon which everything could have turned out very differently (hooker) had I not realized my error the summer before fifth grade. At 9 am on my way to work I think about all kinds of things.

Here’s one thing that I don’t think about at 9 am on my way to work, indeed something I’d rather not think about: Thai food. Don’t get me wrong, Thai food under many, many circumstances is delicious. But there is a reason why there is no lemongrass and red curry pork on the Tim Horton's breakfast menu.

And speaking of menus, 9 am is not a time to be handing out yours.

Sincerely,
Me

P.S. Your restaurant-issued vest had so much flair (flair = magic).

Keep your day job. Seriously. Please.

Because of my retarded work schedule lately, my mother and I usually converse late in the evening, once her shows have finished up and I throw back my fourth can of Bud Lite. Our calls have been starting up at around 11 pm, sometimes later. As a result, I'm pretty fucking beat following a long day of work, but manage to spit out most of the pertinent details: namely back pain and bloat. Just bloat. I am not surprised nor embarassed that I behave much of the time like a 59 year old woman. (Please, look away from me .....I'm hideous.)

Yesterday, my mother had a joke. It was about 11:00 pm. This is pretty much how it went down:

(Loud television in the background)

Mom: Oh my God, Paul told me a funny joke. Wanna hear?

Me: (Unconscious with a bubble of vomit coming out of my nose.)

Mom: OK. So there's this little girl. Hold on - Jessica! Jessica!!

Jessica [sister]: (silent.)

Mom: Turn the TV down? I can't talk with it so loud!

(TV still blaring)

Mom: If your father wakes up, we're both in trouble.

(pause - TV volume lowering)

Mom: OK. So there's this little girl and she lives next door to a construction site -- wait, do you know this?

Me: (White painted face, black lipstick, wrapping invisible rope around my neck and miming my own death.)

Mom: Listen to me, you're gonna think this is so funny...it's soooo funny. So this little girl, she's sooo cute, and she lives next door to a construction site and one day she walks over (pause) No, I'm screwing it up, hold on. (pause, she starts whispering to herself) okay, so she goes next door and asks the construction men if she can help them. So, they say 'okay' and everyday she helps they do little things - you know, here and there ... Hello? Are you there?

Me:

Mom: So, they men paid her $1 for her work each week, and finally when she had to go back to school ... Hold on. Jessica!! Stop clinking your fork on the plate!! You're eating too loud, I can hear you all the way to here!! (phone rustling, girl's voice in the background.) You shouldn't even be eating, it's almost midnight! (phone rustling) OK, hi? Rebecca?

Me:

Mom: So, she had to go back to school and her mother asked her if she was going to keep helping them on the weekends .. Rebecca? Listen, you're gonna love this.

Me:

Mom: Then, her mother asks her if she's going to still help on the weekends, because, you know, she has to go back to school. And the little girl said ... Rebecca?

Me:

Mom: So, the little girl said "Only if Home Depot delivers the fucking drywall" .. did you hear me? The fucking drywall?

Me:

Mom: Isn't that hilarious? (laughing wildly) The fucking drywall!! Rebecca?

Me:

Too far? Probs.

Hell? Def.

Holla.