An Open Letter to the Crazy People on the Street Who Talk to Me When I'm Listening to My iPod

Dear Crazy People on the Street Who Talk to Me When I'm Listening to My iPod:

Hey, what's up? How was your week? Mine was good, thanks. It went by real quick. I'm looking forward to the weekend. I have lots of fun social activities planned. Anyway, that's not why I'm writing. There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, and it's time I stopped procrastinating and got on with it. It's regarding your insistence on talking to me when I'm listening to my iPod. I know, I know. Sometimes it's hard to tell that I can't hear you. But I'm going to help break it down for you. You see these white bud-like things that are nesting in my ears, the ones with the white cords hanging off of them? Right, yes. Those. They serve an important function that you don't seem to be aware of. They exist to pipe music in to my head so that I may be better entertained as I walk down the street. Yes, agree with you that it's a sad testament to the state of our society that we feel the need to be entertained by various media AT ALL TIMES and that we can't appreciate silence and simplicity, but hey. We can't all be Henry David Thoreau, can we? So the thing about the music being piped into my head is that it serves a second vital function. It prevents me from hearing you and having to listen to you as you shout at me to give you a dollar (a dollar? ah, to recall the days when it was just a quarter or a dime) of my hard earned money so that you can by a Big Mac or a bottle of malt liquor or God knows what other poison that no doubt caused you to wind up where you are in the first place. It's not that I don't feel terrible about your plight. I do. But it's not really my problem to fix, and frankly, the several years I spent working for do-gooder non-profits jaded me enough that I am simply burnt out on random liberal empathizing. Moreover, it taught me to be more efficient with my charitable donations, which I would rather spend on electing good liberals to office than on buying your lunch. So, I'm sorry about that, but it's just the way it's going to be. And please do not follow me down the street either. Stalking me will simply lead you to the nearest police officer and there's nothing worse than encounter with the DC po-po. I think that's something we can all agree on. So please just let me listen to my iPod in peace and save your voice for somebody who can actually hear you.

All the best,

Hey Pretty