Dear Driver of White Volvo Stationwagon Parked in Front of the Church Nightclub in Denver on Saturday Night:
I never formally introduced myself. I was so concerned with my personal safety that I wasn’t able to tell you how much I wanted to punch you in the throat. I never got the chance to tell you what an embarrassment to humanity you are.
I appreciate your concerns in life. After all, I was walking on the sidewalk that your car was hovering over. Your car’s presence did force me to reroute my steps. That may have entitled you to a simple, ‘I’m sorry for blocking the entire sidewalk. I don’t know what I was thinking.’ That would have sufficed.
I am pretty sure that, ‘What are you looking at, bitch?’ was not the appropriate response to my crossing in front of your car. I know, I know, you had a young girl in your car and you wanted to impress her. I was surprised to see your companion laughing at my expense.
I can’t promise that were I in a similar situation, I would laugh at my male companion harrassing a strange female and calling her a bitch. I am pretty sure I wouldn’t laugh at all. You must possess some amazing charm.
That charm was further demonstrated when you continued to shout at me. ‘Just keep on walking, slut!’ was especially poignant. I admire your ability to pass judgement on a girl wearing an ankle-length skirt. Clever.
I think I realized the breadth of your charm when two men tried to calm you down. ‘Get in the car,’ they requested. ‘She started it!’ you protested. Mmm. I started it. I did, after all, walk in front of your car. If that’s not grounds for verbal assault, then hell, I don’t know what is.
It was good that you drove away when you did. Obviously at the height of your inebriation, it’s always a good idea to operate a vehicle when you can do the most damage. Lucky for you, you drive the world’s safest car–you should be all set. Good thinking, ace.
I guess I am most disappointed in my complicity. I was too sober to think quickly. Had I consumed a drink or five, I would have had the good sense to spit on your car, tell you how ashamed for you I was, and heck–I would have even taken a black-eye for the team just to see the number of men that would have jumped into the fight to kick your ass.
What am I saying–I could have kicked your ass. Regrets, I’ve had a few. Perhaps we’ll meet again.
The Tall Blond Girl Who Walked in Front of Your Car