An Open Letter to Cash-Only Bodegas

Really?

Are you serious?  Look, the last time I had cash was probably by accident, and it certainly wasn't because I left my apartment that morning thinking, "Damn, I could really go for a bottle of juice or a quick snack--not now, but sometime around 4:15 this afternoon."  You might have that kind of foresight, but I certainly do not.  Then again, if you did, you'd have probably seen the year 2010 coming and you'd have gotten a charge card system.

As for you, "Seven-Dollar-Minimum-Purchase Bodegas on the Corner of Thompson and West 3rd", it's about time you knew your role.  If you don't want my money, fine.  There are other bodegas on the same block that will happily accept my business.  Stop acting like you're the only game in town.  I'm not spending $7 when all I want is a Clif Bar, so why you fronting?

I'd prefer to pick one bodega and be a loyal customer.  I like to support the little guy, and CVS and I have a beef at the moment.  Just embrace the fact that a good 30-45% of your sales are impulsive, and help us blow our hard-earned cash at your establishment even when we don't have hard-earned cash.

Useless Post (33% Less Fat!)

Although it should technically be fine, I cannot come around to the notion of cream cheese on toast.

An Open Letter to the Diminutative Fellow Who Berated A Library Employee After Cutting Me In Line.

Dear Short Stack,

Although we only spent about two minutes in each others' presence today, I wanted to drop you a line and let you know how much you suck.

24

Illustration by Nedroid

Not sure, but I think I just had the lamest birthday ever.  Guess I'm a grown-up now.  Crap, when did that happen?

An Open Letter to the Cockroach I Saw in the Laundry Room

Dear Tiny Manifestation of Evil,

So, we finally meet.  You: the first naturally occuring cockroach I have ever seen.  Me: mild-mannered student teacher by day, part-time super hero by night.  There was a definite moment as I entered the laundry room and you paused in your scurry across the floor that our eyes locked.

We stared at one another, sizing each other up for a good few seconds.  Then, as we nonchalantly went our seperate ways, we continuously turned around to monitor each other's paths.  No doubt, you were considering the brute strength that must lie within each of my disproportionately toned arms (Hey, I'm working on the shoulders, alright?  Lay off.  LOOK AT YOUR LEGS, SHRIMP!).

Listen, let me lay this out for you in a language that you can understand.  I have no quarrel.  I do not bite my thumb at you, sir.  You pose no threat to me as you scamper across the floor, looking for God knows what (as it was past midnight, I'm forced to assume you were out looking for a lady friend).  I live on a much higher floor, whereas you live in the basement, or you were just visiting.  So long as you remain below ground level, in the land of dryer lint and the occasional pipe leak, we have no beef.

But I swear to Eric Clapton, if you so much as stick one little antennae into our hallway, I will sick the baby panther on you and she will rip you into a dozen nuclear-radiation-resistant pieces.  Sure, you might have the upper hand when it comes to longevity, but who is more likely to survive the swift justice of the bottom of my sneaker?  Me, that's who.  Don't ask questions.

Listen, bug, I've wasted enough of my time writing this patient, heartfelt letter that you can't read cause yous straight ignant.  You've probably already been smashed by someone since I started this tome, so I will wrap it up and wish you a good night far below my apartment, stuck to the squeaky wheel of a laundry cart.

Wednesday Morning

Editor's Note:  There used to be an entry here about the taxi cab that struck me on the sidewalk one morning. There are currently several legal cases pending, so I decided it was best to take this post down given my involvement in these cases.

An Open Letter to the Nigerian Email Scam Artist Posing as a Reputable NYC Landlord Who Woke Up This Morning To Find His Inbox Swamped with Dozens of Hilariously Annoying Email Subscriptions and Text Message Alerts, All Addressed to a Certain "Dr. Fake McScammypants"

You're welcome.
Love, Dan

Adventures in Education, Chapter 16

The administration at my student teaching site asked us to create a homework packet or research project assignment for our students for the public school spring break last week.  As a part of our unit on Night by Elie Wiesel, I asked students to select one of four project options for their research on Holocaust history.

Option #3 was a series of creative writing journals detailing, with some historical accuracy, daily life in the ghetto for an "undesirable".  I apparently did not specify that I meant the Warsaw ghetto, and I am currently reading through journal entries describing life in Bushwick, Brooklyn, and Hunts Point in the Bronx.

Tomorrow's class will be featuring a "teachable moment".  I'm still learning things, too.

A Very Recentist List of One English Ed Grad Student's Fears (but not mine, certainly).

Level 1
- Being late for class
- Teaching the day after a Boston team bites it against an NYC team.
- Running out of Clif Bars
- Houston Street bicyclists

Level 2
- Forgetting to set the alarm
- Showing up to class unprepared
- Crossing the street the day after the Yankees win the World Series
- Not having a devastatingly witty response for Nigerian email scammers

Level 3
- Not being able to shake the feeling that I forgot to set the alarm
- The Lincoln Tunnel
- Taking the Ashmont Red Line instead of the Braintree Red Line, only to wake up and find out it was all a dream... as I miss the late night 1 train at 116th Street.
- Being called a phony as I teach The Catcher in the Rye

Level 4
- Being called a phony as I teach The Very Hungry Caterpillar
- Being placed at a Staten Island student teaching site
- Nigerian email scammers riding bicycles on Houston Street
- Whales

Level 5
- Men's rooms in Brooklyn
- The subway level of the Port Authority Bus Terminal
- The G train
- Dying alone

Level 6
- Having to drive through Connecticut even one more time.

Help Me Get Lunch, Friends

There is a restaurant nearby called Project Sandwich, and they are asking for sandwich submissions. You can see the list and vote or die here.

Naturally I am hungry and anticipate getting free food so please consider the issues, place a sign in your front lawn, and go vote for "The Upper-Middle Class Pilgrim"--the sandwich that is about to take Manhattan by storm, kind of like the rain just did.

"The Upper-Middle Class Pilgrim" Sandwich

1 Serving of Smoked Turkey

A Few Slices of Ham

Two Strips of Bacon

Cranberry Mustard

Served on Potato Bread

w/Cape Cod Potato Chips

Feel free to submit your own recipe as well, if you are looking to snag second place.  I really think that having my own sandwich will be the difference maker and I will finally have lots of friends.