Dear Guy Who Went Out Of
His Way To Hold A Door For Me Even Though I Showed No Signs Of Not Being Able
To Open The Door Myself:
Firstly, in the name of
simplicity, I shall refer to you as Duckfart because I have no idea what your stupid
name actually is.
Dearest Duckfart:
In case you do not
remember our brief encounter this morning, I was about 15 feet from a doorway I
had to enter when some girl came flying out because her hand was holding a
leash attached to a large, running dog.
This made me think of how
annoying it is when people say, 'Are you walking your dog or is your dog walking you LOLOLOLOLzzz!!!!!11’, so
I was furious before even seeing you.
Then you appeared,
Duckfart.
Instead of trying to help
your friend who was being doghandled,
you ran around the door to hold it open as if I was royalty.
As I walked past you to
enter the building, you said something peculiar- "No worries, bro."
Being a trendosaurus maximus (as the kids say),
I knew your statement stood in place of "You're welcome", which is
also a strange phrase that I will get to a bit later.
Curiously, you said that
without being thanked. Regardless of my plan to feign gratitude or not, you
boldly assumed I was not just grateful but indebted
to your poor excuse for generosity.
Essential to say, I was fuming
mad by the time I walked through the doorway and here is my list of reasons
why:
1) You are one of the
rudest people I have ever encountered, Duckfart. Holding a door open when
somebody is right there should
obligatorily be done, but stopping your travel to whirl around in dramatic
fashion to hold a door for somebody whose arms are not full is inexcusable. You
are not a hero. You are an obnoxious, attention-seeking loser whose only hope
for redemption is to train your dog to hold doors for strangers because that
would be interesting.
2) Did you really think I
was worried? I was absurdly confident in my ability to open that door and enter
the building. And was I supposed to be concerned that you would break your
stupid shoulder or something while holding the door for me? Nothing about our
encounter worried me until after, when I was screaming internally.
3) Do you think you are
Australian, Duckfart? Because you are not. You had no criminal accent and
Australian rugby players would probably beat you mercilessly simply for wearing
that fitted blazer which your grandmother likely said you look 'darling' in.
In case you are wondering
why I am blathering about Australia, “No worries” is a phrase with roots to that
lovely country.
And if you thought I was
worried, you completely skipped over the last section of this writing. Please
backtrack.
4) If you meant "You're
welcome", you chose another dumb saying with no real connection to this letter
but now I am focused on it and will not turn back.
I am welcome? WHERE!? Are
you a store manager? Did you invite me over for snacks?? Can I come aboard your
stupid sailboat??? If any of those garnered a yes, "You're welcome"
would have been wildly appropriate. Other than that, get over yourself.
5) Bro. Do not call me that.
Do not call anyone that.
6) I hate your scarf.
7) What is your dog's
name?
(Realizing this argument-
which made no sense to begin with- is getting weaker with each numbered point, I
have decided to end this letter.)
With all of that said, I
must congratulate and thank you, Duckfart. It has been a surprisingly long time
since I have achieved such a multi-layered level of philosophical anger. Your
simple "nice" gesture of holding a door open has unleashed the
aggression of a thousand papercuts.
You are so terrible that
it can only be described as Bieberian. Justin Bieberian. I do not understand why
people hate him but I know they do and that helps me out here.
As people hate Justin
Bieber, I brutally hate you, Duckfart. I hate your chivalry and your blazer. I
hate your friend and your grandmother. I almost hate Australia because of you,
but I know they had very little if anything to do with this.
I have been trying to
wish less death and destruction upon people lately, so I will close with this-
I hope you poop in your pants at a horribly inconvenient time, such as at a
wake or Thanksgiving dinner.
Yours in unreasonable disdain,
-Rob
PS-- If you can make trendosaurus maximus an actual thing, I
will denounce most of my previously-mentioned hatred toward you.
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