Dear Bicycle Seat Thief,
I hope that you feel every inch of your sorry human skin melt excruciatingly away in the flames of hell.
May your days of your sorry excuse for human existence be numbered.
xoxo,
Chloe
Friday, October 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
of lunch-eaters and table-benches
It was the only park nearby. Well, it wasn't really a park, as it lacked the requisite vegetation, covered as it was in asphalt and brightly colored children's climbing things. It was more like a playground, but at least it had plentiful benches, where Chloe could sit and eat her lunch, solitary among the shrill cries of spoiled 3 year olds, untended by chatting nannies.
On the whole, the playground suited its purpose for Chloe: a place to sit by herself under the sun. Every lunch hour was a new story; upon arrival, Chloe walked farther into the playground until she spied an open bench.
For many months, she coveted the four pairs of benches that faced one of four tables just outside the gates, under some trees. They were always taken, mostly by solitary lunch eaters, as if they felt themselves so lucky when they found their prize that they never left their seats, day after day. And no one would think to try to sit in the empty facing bench, because no one in their right mind would want to sit and eat their lunch facing a complete stranger, in some sort of forced, awkward closeness.
Then, one day, the playground gods shone down upon Chloe. The first pair of table-benches was open. She took a seat, smiling satisfyingly in her mind, spending five whole minutes retrieving the lunch items from her bag and setting it upon the table.
Just as she took her third bite of tuna salad, a 30-something businessman walked up to the facing bench and asked Chloe in the most polite of ways, "if anyone sitting here?"
The politeness only made her rage worse. Surely he was joking? She looked around at the other table-benches, all of which were attended by a solitary person. Why didn't he ask one of them? Why ask in the first place? She never asked anyone before, patiently waiting for her day, this, sunny, special day, when the playground gods would shine down upon her. Surely he thinks it could be at least slightly awkward, him, in his shirt and tie, eating a sub sandwich, facing her, two feet away? She would have to start some sort of labored conversation, the kind that strangers in uncomfortably close situations in places like New York have, consisting of awkward, basic generalizations about the weather and such. What a drag. What a jerk.
"No," said Chloe, as she re-packed her carefully placed lunch items, remnants of those short sweet moments of naivete that were taken from her just as quickly as they appeared, then retreating to a regular, non-table bench.
On the whole, the playground suited its purpose for Chloe: a place to sit by herself under the sun. Every lunch hour was a new story; upon arrival, Chloe walked farther into the playground until she spied an open bench.
For many months, she coveted the four pairs of benches that faced one of four tables just outside the gates, under some trees. They were always taken, mostly by solitary lunch eaters, as if they felt themselves so lucky when they found their prize that they never left their seats, day after day. And no one would think to try to sit in the empty facing bench, because no one in their right mind would want to sit and eat their lunch facing a complete stranger, in some sort of forced, awkward closeness.
Then, one day, the playground gods shone down upon Chloe. The first pair of table-benches was open. She took a seat, smiling satisfyingly in her mind, spending five whole minutes retrieving the lunch items from her bag and setting it upon the table.
Just as she took her third bite of tuna salad, a 30-something businessman walked up to the facing bench and asked Chloe in the most polite of ways, "if anyone sitting here?"
The politeness only made her rage worse. Surely he was joking? She looked around at the other table-benches, all of which were attended by a solitary person. Why didn't he ask one of them? Why ask in the first place? She never asked anyone before, patiently waiting for her day, this, sunny, special day, when the playground gods would shine down upon her. Surely he thinks it could be at least slightly awkward, him, in his shirt and tie, eating a sub sandwich, facing her, two feet away? She would have to start some sort of labored conversation, the kind that strangers in uncomfortably close situations in places like New York have, consisting of awkward, basic generalizations about the weather and such. What a drag. What a jerk.
"No," said Chloe, as she re-packed her carefully placed lunch items, remnants of those short sweet moments of naivete that were taken from her just as quickly as they appeared, then retreating to a regular, non-table bench.
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