An Open Letter to The Woman in NYC Who Reads While Walking

I was going to continue my narration of my trip to New York City. But Tuna Girl called me out on my inability to remember facts. It seems I completely mixed up the events of Friday and Saturday in New York. I forgot to mention people I met, which I was trying hard to avoid. Michael Vernon also pointed out that I did not eat a tostada on Friday night. I left the tostada sitting out all night on the end table in his living room. I actually ate the tostada on Saturday night (after Michael refrigerated it for me).

My mind doesn't function normally. I can't recall the events of this weekend, but I will always remember that my friend in college once told me her high school colors were Roman Blue, Burnt-Orange and Silver-Grey.

Because I massacred the story, I'm going to stop telling it and just post this letter to someone I met this weekend:

Dear Woman in NYC Who Reads While Walking:
While I only spent a few moments in your presence, I want you to know that that time was hell for me. As I tried to exit the subway, I made the mistake of following you through the turnstile. How was your book? It seemed enthralling, given the fact that you could not tear your eyes away from the page to watch where you were walking. I had the displeasure of following you up the stairs onto the street, because I couldn't get past you.

I'm not sure you'll remember me, since you didn't look up from the page. I was the guy behind you carrying very heavy bags after a six-hour flight from Portland. I was also very hungry and needed a drink or five. Is any of this ringing a bell?

I didn't see what you were reading, but based on your fascination with the book, I can only assume it was a page-turner with lots of steamy sex scenes. I am glad you appreciate literature, but I'm disappointed in your disregard for your fellow man. You live in a city that is far too crowded for selfish behavior. If you lived in Portland, Oregon, I'll bet you would be one of those people who drive while applying make-up and talking on her cell phone. I hate you, Woman in NYC Who Reads While Walking.

In the subway station, you traipsed up the stairs like a zombie. I am a person who prefers to hurry up stairs and get the whole unpleasantness over with, especially when I am carrying heavy bags. But you prolonged the agony of those stairs and forced me to shuffle slowly behind you. For that reason, WINYCWRWW, I want you to know that I hope something bad happens to you while you are reading someday.

I don't want you to die or anything. But it would give me great pleasure to know that maybe you'll fall into one of those openings on the sidewalk. You know, like Samantha did in Sex and the City. I'm talking about those openings where vendors unload produce and stuff. I don't know what they're called. I just call them Vendor Holes. I'm sure you know the proper terminology since you are such an avid reader and probably have an extensive vocabulary.

If you don't fall in a vendor hole, I seriously hope you run into someone in New York City who will scream at you and berate you in that special way that New Yorkers have of expressing themselves.

Sincerely,
Hot Toddy