To the guy who keeps putting on a dozen consecutive Nine Inch Nails songs at the bar: Look, everyone likes NIN to some extent. We all feel like angsty 13-year-old kids from time to time, and I’ll admit that I have a few NIN albums myself. I’ll even throw a song on on the juke box if the mood suits me, but we don’t need a full hour of NIN when we’re out drinking. The beauty of the juke box — especially the Internet variety like the one in question — is that you have thousands of artists at your fingertips. Change it up from time to time. At the very least don’t pick that shitty-ass remix of “Closer”. That’s a total downer.

To the lady who was intent on not letting me merge onto the freeway this morning: This is a big city. There are a million people in the metropolitan area. We need to look out for each other, especially when we’re driving. There were a number of things you did wrong. You were in the far-left lane for no particular reason. You really shouldn’t do this, especially when there’s traffic merging from the left side. On top of that, you were on a gigantic eight-lane expressway. If you’re going to be driving on it for a while, as you were, drift to the middle and stay out of the way. Worst of all, when it’s 6:45 A.M., like it was when I encountered you, and the other three lanes are empty, please remember that when I’m merging I have only one lane to choose from and kindly use one of the three empty lanes. The least you could do is adjust your speed so that I don’t have to go 80 mph just to avoid hitting you, a mere 1/4 mile before entering the engineering marvel known as the S-curve.

To the guy I’m certain I don’t know who yelled “Hey, man! What’s up!” when I walked past his car outside Meijer and then started laughing hysterically when I gave him a polite nod: Maybe I was just in a bad mood this afternoon and any other day I’d be amused by a character such as yourself, but your game seems illogical and needlessly simple.

To the lady who drives the yellow VW Beetle to work: Your parking jobs are amazingly bad. The lines on the parking lot at our place of employment are bright and crisp, so when you manage to park precisely at the center of the intersection of four of them, that’s quite an accomplishment in the field of just not paying attention. Is it some kind of commentary? Are you shunning the rules of modern society to make some kind of point?

To the guy at the gas station who wanted some of my Gatorade: Thank you for acknowledging my purple shirt. It’s actually a favorite of mine. But, no, you can’t have any of my Gatorade.