Dear Neighbor in Warren -
I'm not gonna shovel out the walk, so you might as well call me in now.
I work 12-14 hour days. My wife left almost a year ago to go relive her college days (she's fucking the third or fourth in a line of grad students at the U of M, from what I hear) and saddled me with the mortgage and car payment. The dog now hates me because he's cooped up in one room all day long when he used to be home with the wife (too busy doing yoga to stay limber for the college studs to get a job when we were together) and could go outside or at least have run of the house all day.
Thanks for the dirty look when I saw you out walking YOUR unleashed shit-machine-on-four-legs this morning. Must be a bitch to be shins deep in the snow while your dog clamors into my yard to leave a steamer in the drift. Noticed you didn't have a bag with you and kind of caught the way you just kept on walking without picking up Rover's turds as I rolled up the hill towards another hourlong commute.
Hey, asshole. Guess what? I'm not an independent consultant or whatever the fuck it is you told me your job is when I was checking out your wife's ass at the neighborhood picnic this Summer. I'm a sales manager. I get up early, go to the office, slug it out listening to salespeople tell me that our customers won't buy our services in this economy (or as I call it, 'whining about shit that's really not my problem') until well after you've had your supper, and typically make it home about the time you're settling in to watch Real Housewives of Orange County or whatever closet cocksucker show you watch after you put little Peyton and Jacinda to bed.
I'm beat when I get home. I eat a sandwich, pet the dog a little, sort the mail, and wish my wife wasn't a cum guzzling whore for a Carlson School of Management's Spring '09 MBA candidates, each of whom is gonna finish fucking my wife, defend a dissertation, get offered a job without having to make a meaningful search, and earn six times more money at age 22 with no experience than I am at age 40 with a BS in marketing and 18 years never once having missed quota for base-plus-ten-percent.
The LAST thing on my mind in these moments of lamentation is putting on the Carhartts and shoveling out the sidewalk when it's -15�. I gotta get up in six hours and get back to the office. I work for a living, and to tell you the truth, when you called the City to complain earlier this year about snow on the sidewalk and I got the $30 WSB invoice from the City for them to come by with their brush-blower, I happily paid it. It was worth the $30 to not have to go out and stand in the wind for 30 minutes.
So this is your fair warning, oh neighbor of mine...might as well call me in now, because it ain't getting any warmer the rest of this week, my job ain't getting any less demanding, and as far as I know, my wife has every intention of continuing to let the next generation of useless MBAs keep screwing her spit-lubricated ass. Which means I have the perfect combination of prohibitive temperatures, discretionary income, and anger at humanity in general to keep paying the city to clear the sidewalk in from of my house well into Spring.
More snow on the way!