Letter to the Annoying Guy Who Sat Behind Us at the Game

Dear Sir,

You may not have noticed me Saturday at the game. I was sitting in front of you, in the Zone, where the people are supposed to be a little nicer, because the seats are so expensive. Yeah, I didn't pay for mine, either, but we can all act kind of classy, can't we?

Your voice is loud. Too loud. Even if you had just been talking about, say, football it would have been annoying. Your friend's voice was not quite as loud, but annoying in its constant presence.

If your voice is that loud, it's especially annoying when you use the "F" word over and over and over. I know that word. I occasionally use it, in private of course, so I didn't need the tutorial. If my children had been with me, I would have asked you to stop, but we left them at home, so I suffered in silence.

By the way, did you know gambling was illegal? It is. According to my husband, you are well versed in all the gambling terms and must be a real addict pro. Perhaps you were trying to brag by talking, loudly, into your cell phone about the $4800 you put on some team or another. Perhaps you would like to hear how much I'm about to spend on my new couch. No? Oh, well.

I know I probably should choose a career one of these days, but I didn't appreciate your monologue on the finer points of selling cars. The parts about units and only having twenty six days a month to sell cars were terribly boring to the uninitiated uninterested. I really didn't like the part about the dumb B-ch who works at the same dealership you do and is worthless. Tell it to your manager and try to use nicer language. Just a suggestion. I also didn't need to hear, in great detail, how you and your buddy were planning to school the new guy. I think he might do just fine without the benefit of your great wisdom. My least favorite thing about car dealers is how they talk so much you can't think. And I'm the primary car buyer in my family, so you might want to reconsider your attitude towards us dumb B--ches.

My husband likes to look at attractive women. I even point them out to him. Heck, I like looking at attractive women. But I feel compelled to mention to you what it took me years to teach my husband: Be cool, idiot. Don't stare with glazed eyes and don't wonder aloud if the lady in question is "legal." And, above all, do not ask the woman in front of you (that would be me) how old she thinks one of your targets is. That was just creepy.

I am sorry you forgot your belt. Even though you didn't need to say it loudly enough for everyone to hear, I do understand how such a thing could be annoying. I hate it when I, for example, forget to wear earrings. I do hope it didn't ruin the game for you.

Lastly, if you cannot take any of my kind advice and file it away for future reference, you may want to avoid referring to the specific dealership that employs you (S***. How could I forget? You said it about a hundred times.)

In hopes of tempering the negative tone of my letter, I would like to thank you for not being the guy who feels compelled to shout very specific instructions to the coach and players, even though there's no way they could hear him. That guy is really annoying. I also must admit that you have provided mildly interesting fodder for our post-game chats. I thank you for that.

Anyhow, thanks for listening. I did have a good time and I hope you did, too. It's always nice when they win, even if they should have won a little better. Go, Gamecocks!

Sincerely,

The Lady Who Sat in Front of You at the Game


P.S. Namasté, Sir.