dear neighbor, who, for the purposes of this letter, will be named todd,
listen. i know i eat a lot of takeout. maybe, arguably, i eat "too much" takeout. maybe i need to "reign in" my "problem." maybe "most people aren't on a first-name basis with the delivery people at their favorite indian restaurant," and maybe "most restaurants don't automatically take the bell peppers out of your panang curry even when you forget to add it as a special request because they know you like the bell peppers on the side". maybe all that's true, i don't know, i'm not a scientist!!!!! i don't have the data!!!!! i can't prove these things!!!!!
SO WHAT if i want to order the same barbecue seitan sandwich from a restaurant with the dubious name of Vegetarian Express #2 every day for two weeks? SO WHAT if, in the face of the CRUMBLING POLITICAL REALITY AROUND ME, i want to bury my sorrows in panang curry that is labeled, bafflingly, "medium (quite hot)"? SO WHAT if i care to blow my entire monthly meal budget in the first two weeks of november because i have spent, all told, four days' lunches on delivery fees alone? you tell your secrets to your priest and i'll tell mine to my credit card bill and my grubhub history, ok todd??? ok??? can you let me live, please???
i know what you're thinking: "why are you telling me this?" we-he-heeeell. what a good question. why am i writing this letter to you, just a humble tiva-and-socks-wearing miley cyrus fan? oh, how do i know you're a miley cyrus fan? funny story, todd. i know you're a miley cyrus fan because I CAN HEAR YOU PLAYING MILEY CYRUS ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. YOU LIVE NEXT DOOR. THESE WALLS ARE THIN.
and you know what!!! i have never said anything. i have let you live your life because who am i to throw the first stone? whatever, bangerz was fine! do your thing! there were some catchy songs on that album when it came out THREE GODDAMN YEARS AGO. i, like the rest of the world, moved on from bangerz, but you know what, i thought to myself, why don't you just leave that nice man alone. so what, he wears tivas and socks. so what, he once reported you to your doormen for being "too loud" after "quiet hours" because you were finishing up putting your bookshelf together at nine-oh-one p.m. on a FRIDAY NIGHT.
but playing "bangerz" on repeat at four in the morning is fine, i guess!!!!!
i thought to myself, who cares about your garbage opinion, molly? let the man live. but no more miss nice neighbor, buddy, and do you know why??? i'll bet you do. i'll bet there are leftovers of it in your fridge right now, next to whatever it is you feed your herd of differently-colored tivas, you fucking tiva farmer.
that's right. because you STOLE!!!! MY TAKEOUT!!!!
WHO THE HELL STEALS TAKEOUT!!!!!!!!!! TODD!!!!
WHO DOES THAT!!!!
WHAT THE HELL!!!!
WHO RASIED YOU!!!!!!
now listen. i know that times are hard. i know that we are living in a garbage world on fire and the future looks like more garbage that is on fire also. i get it!!! i understand. take your coping mechanisms where you can get them, buddy, but THESE ARE NACHO VEGAN NACHOS, PAL. these are MY vegan nachos that i waited an HOUR FOR, BY THE WAY!!!!
I PAID $16.99 FOR THEM!!!! I GOT EXTRA SALSA BECAUSE I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, MOLLY, LIFE IS JUST THE SLOW PROCESS OF DYING. TREAT YOURSELF. SO I DID!
I DID, TODD, AND YOU SLAPPED THAT TREAT RIGHT OUT OF MY HAND, YOU LITERAL MONSTER.
listen, bucko, i try really hard to see the best in people and i like to think that you took one bite of that delicious bbq seitan sandwich with avocado--THAT'S RIGHT, I SPRUNG FOR AVOCADO, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS A DOLLAR EXTRA--and were flooded with guilt and have been, ever since, composing apology letters to me in your apartment to the soundtrack of miley cyrus' "wrecking ball."
BUT I KNOW YOU'RE NOT, BECAUSE I CAN HEAR INTO YOUR APARTMENT, TODD. MILEY IS SILENT BUT YOUR GUILT IS LOUD.
oh, sure, it's "just takeout" and i "got a refund". that's not the point!!!! the point is that you kNOW WHERE I LIVE!!!! the point is that you have to SEE ME EVERY DAY and MY NAME AND UNIT WERE ON THE RECEIPT. you KNOW WHO YOU STOLE FROM, TODD. YOU KNOW.
you know and i know and that delivery man knows and the three of us are locked together in this secret forever.
forever, todd.
the point is that this world is a spinning heap of forsaken dreams and the very least we can do is be gentle with one another. the very, VERY least we can do is tell slightly lost deliverymen that they have the wrong apartment and point them FIVE FEET AWAY to the correct door!!!!
that feels like a real low bar, todd. a real low bar. that feels like a bar you could roll over. but nooo. you had to dig a hole under the bar and then climb into that hole so you could eat MY TAKEOUT in peace.
well, you KNOW WHAT, PAL? i hope you enjoyed it. i hope those vegan nachos and that bbq seitan sandwich with avocado treated you right. you know what i ate for dinner, since my nutritionally vacant takeout was not available? i had preztels in jalapeño cheddar cheese from a can.
CHEDDAR CHEESE FROM A CAN, TODD. FROM A CAN.
fuck you, buddy!!!!!
xoxo
mozz