“Hey, wanna get lunch?” Yes, you, of course I want to get lunch—I just don’t want to get it with you. You suck. Everything you have to say is some insipid circle-jerk about your car, your house or your wife. I hope she’s banging your neighbor and complaining about how—even though you got a raise at work—you can’t get one in the bedroom. Stop trying to tell me about your boat every time I go to the bathroom. I’m trying to pee, you dolt! The only time I want to hear that boat is if it sinks with you in it. I hope you get eaten by a shark, you twatsicle. You asked me out to lunch yesterday and I lied about having packed one that day. So it must’ve been awkward seeing me on my way back from your favorite taco truck without you. I hope seeing me helped you realize that nobody likes you. Because sure, you have a Porsche and live in S.F., but that can’t fill the void of your empty personality.
I Saw You is an anonymous “man on the street” column. Email your rants and raves about co-workers or any badly behaving citizens to
iS*****@me*******.com
, or send to 380 S. First St, San Jose, 95113. Submissions should stick to about 100 words.
