To Whom It May Concern

I didn’t like the look of you when I got on the subway car – the way you glared out from under your fur-lined hat. Even hunched over in your seat it was obvious you are huge – so tall and angry looking. But when you leapt to your feet and offered your seat to the young mother with her child asleep in her stroller – all I wanted to do was give you a hug!

I admit it – I broke the refrigerator.

I lied when I said that when all the ice had melted out of the freezer compartment a hole in the raised freon channel became exposed and hence all the gas leaked out. You were right in your suspicions that I had caused the hole. But hear me out! That fridge needed to get replaced – the freezer would fill up with so much ice that only a single can of concentrated orange juice would squeeze into the tiny little pocket in the center! And the act of defrosting it, waiting for that 6-inch-thick ice to melt, would take days! So it’s only natural that I would try to help it along by chipping at it with a hammer and flat-head screwdriver. It’s also only natural that I would become too ambitious and to continue to chip away even after most of the ice was gone and the tip of the screwdriver drew so close to the delicate aluminum walls of the freezer! We both know how that ended – with me receiving a blast of freon in my panicked face. And because I was so young and so poor I made up the ridiculous story about the ice melting and revealing an already-present hole, thereby releasing the gas and rendering the appliance useless. But you didn’t believe me, and I didn’t put up much of a fight when I had to buy a new fridge. I was embarrassed. Not because I had broken the fridge, but because I had tried to cover it up.

If I were  in that situation now, I’d simply call you and tell you that my refrigerator was broken and needed fixing. At your expense. I’d then just wait for the ice to melt by itself. You got a new fridge for free and I got a lesson in patience. No hard feelings.

It must feel horrible to return to your favourite bar and find it completely changed – filled with the type of people you beat-up frequently. And it must make you sad inside when you order a pint of your favourite mass-produced beer and are told that only local microbreweries are on tap. But can’t you see the ridiculousness in your loud statement “I don’t want any of that yuppie piss! Just give me a bottle of Bud!”? Look around you angry new friend – our pint glasses are filled with beers so dark and strong and black you can’t see light through them. Yet you call this “piss” and order a Bud? Can’t you see the irony in that? I am eager to point it out, but am pretty sure you would punch me in the face and neck.