More Winners of The White Shoe Angry Letter Contest
The White Shoe Staff
[Redactor's Note: This is the second of two days dedicated to the winners of The White Shoe Angry Letter Contest. If you missed the first installment, or are wondering what Angry Letters are and why have dedicated two days to them, please go here.]
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Angry Letter #3
Dear White Shoe Irregular,
No, I don't want your stupid prizes. I just didn't know where else to send my complaints to the people at Bit and Bitter. I used to think your stuff was funny. I was even feeling attached to your stupid "column." Since when do you get off claiming to write a column "each week (or thereabouts)." Yeah, right. Just look at the dates on them. No comment.
— Neil Whitaker
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Angry Letter #4
To Whom It May Concern (you know who you are),
I was at Gandolfo's, the local deli, during my lunch break, as I am almost every day, buying my favorite sandwich. That is, buying my sandwich. I get the same thing every day: roast beef and turkey on sourdough with mayo, hot mustard, salt, pepper, olive oil — and here's the best part — balsamic vinegar. It's not really on their menu, but they know me, so when I ask for my regular, they know what I mean. It's taken me a long time to come up with the perfect sandwich, and I relish in it, like I said, almost every single day.
Well, the other day — this day I'm talking about, when I'm at the deli — I order my regular, and the guy there knows me (I hate when there's a new guy. I practically feel like asking for someone else to talk to, but I usually just train him, because maybe he'll be there the next day, you know how it is), so he says it'll be two minutes, like usual. So I'm walking to the register to pay for my lunch and wait for my sandwich, and this other guy comes in to get his lunch. I'm thinking, "This guy wishes his lunch is going to be as good as mine," because my sandwich isn't on the menu. Only this guy, he asks all cute-like, "Do you mind if I just make my own sandwich rather than order one on the menu?" So maybe he's smarter than I think, because usually these delis have their menus all made up for just the average schmo who doesn't know what a good sandwich is.
I'm sure you've guessed what's going to happen (and I'll address you in the second person personal now, if you don't mind), you order my sandwich. You didn't add one thing extra and you didn't leave anything out. So the Gandolfo's guy writes it all down and walks over to the register, and I motion to him like, "Hey, what's the deal with that guy?" You know, squinting my eyes a little, raising the corner of my mouth, and I nod in your direction. He comes over to me all, "Do you have a question?" like he doesn't know what's going on.
"You're not actually going to make that for that guy are you?"
"But that's my sandwich. Why don't you just add a little something extra. Or maybe leave out the hot mustard."
"Sorry, sir, I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm going to get him what he ordered."
Now, this guy isn't exactly new. I mean, I've seen him around for a while; he's not new. But I sure haven't seen you in here before, and I sure haven't heard of anyone ordering my sandwich. Now, if they were to put up my sandwich on the menu and name it after me and put my picture next to the description, then maybe that'd be different. But this I won't stand for.
"No, you're not going to get him exactly what he ordered, because what he ordered is mine. You can't give him my sandwich."
"Oh, of course not sir. Don't worry, you'll each get your own sandwich," he says to me, kind of raising his eyebrows and talking in a higher octave than usual. Like he's talking to a wacko or his kid or something.
"No, you don't get it," I tell him, "that's my sandwich, so you either tell him you're not making it for him or you add something or leave something out, you got that?"
So this guy just taps the counter with his hand a couple times and walks into the back. Out comes Craig. I guess he's the owner or something, and he asks me what's going on. I try to explain it to him, but he doesn't get it either, so of course I punch him in the face and he grabs me from over the counter (I'd say he's a good foot taller than I am) and rams my head into the register. I'm sure you remember this part of that day, as you were standing right there watching. So I leave, without my sandwich, and with you, I'm sure, getting my sandwich instead.
Here's the deal. I'm leaving this letter for you outside the deli so that you know what's going on and so you'll stop ordering my sandwich. Or maybe we can work out a deal where you can go in and get us both one, since it's practically all your fault that they won't let me in there anymore. I think that's only fair, and I'm sure you can see what kind of predicament you've put me in. So call me at (212) 555-2209, or I can wait outside here every day until I see you coming out of the deli, and then I make sure you never eat another of my sandwiches again, if you catch my drift.
Thanks for your cooperation,
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Angry Letter #5
The cat you sold me is dead.
I've left the evidence on your doorstep.
Please refund payment immediately.
A former customer.