An Open Letter

Dear Holy Lords of Slugging:

I write to you with great humility and desperation. I humbly beg for your understanding and assistance.

I do not know what I have done to anger you or to deserve your vicious wrath, but I will do whatever I need to do to make amends.

I feel as if you are working against me, constantly. Everyone I talk to loves their experiences overall, yet I keep getting stuck in these awful situations.

First, you send me to a lot that does not have adequate parking. In the reverse, when there is adequate parking, there aren't adequate rides.

Then you stick me in the car with all kinds of crazy, sexually depraved, bad-tempered, talkative, and generally bizarre people.

Today, with the winds gusting at 30 miles per hour, you stick me in a parking lot FULL of drivers going to destinations other than my own. So much for styling my hair, thank you very much! After you finally decide to cut me some slack, you send in a hippie with a hybrid who doesn't believe in heat (I guess she's counting on global warming to warm us up inside her car?). Then, you pile on to that with the MOST talkative lady to ever ride in the DC HOV lanes and an unexpectedly severe backup.

So, here I sit, dancing dangerously close to hypothermia (but saving the planet apparently) listening to a 90 mile an hour conversation between this woman and herself but only doing about 4 miles an hour on the road. As I try to block out the endless chattering of her mouth and my teeth, I realized that I must have done something to anger you to make you treat me so brutally.

Have I shown too much hubris by trying to arrive at the lot on a consistent schedule? Have I given too many "sympathy" rides, therefore messing up your ability to torture the innocent slugger soul? Have I simply failed to pay the proper dues? Must I sacrifice something at your sacred alter of slugging? Please tell me what I must do, and I will do it!

I am at your service, oh great Lords of Slugging.

Tomorrow, 5 minutes earlier than usual, you will find a gas receipt laying at the bus shelter alter with my solemn promise to behave written in oil and tears. Just please, please give me a nice, quiet ride to work for at least a few days in a row!!!

Please?

Your humble slugging servant,
ME