Hey, Mario! April 6, 2011Posted by Toy Lady in just general griping, random stuff.
Tags: do NOT keep pissing me off
Yeah, you, Andretti.
That is your name, isn’t it? I mean, judging by the way you treat my street like it’s a racetrack, I thought your name must be Mario Andretti.
Oh, it’s not?
You live on this street. You are perfectly aware that this is a suburban neighborhood with a posted speed limit.
HINT: it ain’t 75.
Look, if you want to drive a piece of crap Mitsubishi, that’s your problem. You’re the one who’s got to repair it every other week, not me.
I don’t even care if you want to paint it that gawd-awful shade of orange (excuse me, bronze) to parade around in it. Whatever – it’s parked in your driveway, not mine. To each his own, I guess.
And even the muffler – the ridiculously loud, after-market, um, pipes. It’s definitely annoying (and possibly less than legal) but I can even live with that – boys will be boys, huh?
Oh, hey, wait a minute.
You’re DRIVING. You’re not a BOY. You’re supposed to be an adult.
Responsible to be aware of the fact that most of our street has no sidewalk – which means that you share this street – OUR street – with other people.
We’ve asked you to slow down and been called foul names (your mother should be ashamed).
We’ve tried explaining that those little moving targets are actually kids and pets, and we’ve been mocked for our trouble.
Consider your self placed on notice:
I don’t care if you have mommy issues, or if you hate your dad.
I don’t care if you’re late to work or if your dealer is waiting for you.
The next time you race past my house, the next time you endanger the two little boys who ride their bikes up and down the street, wheelchair guy, the old guy who walks miles every day in his plaid wool jacket and ear-flap hat, the moms who are starting to haul out their strollers after the long winter, the teenagers who are playing basketball on the corner, not to mention Luke the lab and his mom, i-Pod guy and his shepherd, the lady with the adorable pit bull, or, heaven forbid MY husband and our Jarly – the next time I see you, I will call the police.
And I will keep calling them.
I will call them and call them and call them. I’ll call them until they get so sick of hearing from me that they stop you – just to shut me up.
And I don’t care. Better the inconvenience of a phone call, a traffic ticket, than what’s going to happen one of these days.
It needs to stop.