an(other) open letter

Dear Douchebag Scooter Owner Who Lives at My Apartment Complex,

First, I’d like to commend you for doing your part in both helping reduce fuel costs for those of us with actual vehicles and helping decrease the amount of alleged gases that contribute to “global warming.” Your dedication to saving money, and the planet, are admirable.

However, I’d like to be frank with you if I may. If you don’t stop parking your f-ing mechanical bicycle in one of the four spaces directly in front of my apartment, I am just … going … to lose it.

Yes, I realize that there is no assigned parking in the complex. I also realize you have the right to park your moped wherever you choose. I have the right to think you’re a dick for it.

With the size of your Big Wheel, you really don’t NEED a parking space, period. You could easily wheel it under the stairs that lead up to your apartment. Chances are, the apartment management won’t even mind. I mean, let’s be honest. It’s half the size of your partner-in-douche, the Vespa owner, who also takes up parking spots right up front.

Let’s put this into proper perspective a minute, shall we? On your girlymobile, you can’t possibly haul cargo. The other night when I came home from a sizable grocery trip, I had to walk completely across the parking lot because, again, you took one of the four spaces directly up front. I carried — by myself — 13 plastic grocery bags about the length of a football field and then up four flights of stairs.

I don’t necessarily mind, though. It’s good exercise. Keeps me strong.

But you know what I do mind? Coming home in the pouring rain with a broken umbrella to find you, again, parked RIGHT up front. Certainly you were already prepared for inclement weather when you took your trike out to the organic coffeehouse to read your book about the Summer of Love and drink your ethically-grown-and-brewed $7 coffee. I, however, wasn’t as prepared after my day spent downtown under florescent lights trying to squeeze four days worth of work into 10 hours.

However, I digress.

Sometimes, when I’m staring out the window of the Metro, I fantasize about covering your prized weeniemobile in lighter fluid and throwing the match. I smile to myself as the heat from your burning, blue-flower-covered scooter warms me from the inside. I see you running from your apartment with your hands flailing yelling, “Whyyyyy?”

I giggle to myself as I tell you why. Because owning something that takes up a quarter of a parking space, while efficient, doesn’t give you the right to be a douchebag about it. Yes, I get it. You’re with it. You’re “green.” I’m black, like my heart.

So, in closing, please stop parking right up front. It’s not cool. You’re harshing my mellow. I promise to donate to any cause of your choosing if you give me the consideration of NOT taking one of the better parking spaces. I think we can agree to these conditions and continue to co-exist peacefully. That’s my goal, of course.

Failure to comply may result in an action for which I may not be held liable. This includes, but is not limited to, toilet papering your scooter, accidentally dropping an egg from my balcony onto the scooter, covering your seat in peanut butter, letting the air out of your tires (not flattening them … I’ll preserve your tires, just empty them) and leaving you passive-aggressive notes with Post-Its on your windshield.

Thanks for your consideration in this manner. We’re all in this community together. Let’s be friends.

Love,

Jacque Jo