Dear Person Who Parks Their Stupid Car Right In Front of the Door to the Laundromat:
Hey, how’s it going? I know that we don’t talk like we used to, and I’m sorry for that. My bad.
I guess I should start by saying how much I like you. Really! More than you know! I promise, I feel a real affinity with you and I have a deep respect for you and the life you lead. A reverence, really, as you struggle against the man. You know the man, right? He’s that guy who makes sure that there’s way more washers than dryers. The guy who comes on Monday afternoon to noisily collect his quarters. The guy who reaps rewards from our scarcity.
Where was I? Oh, yeah: at the entrance. I guess I got off track there, because my concern really has nothing to do with me or the other souls who share this space. Oh, sure, we’d have a hard time simply walking to the door, much less carrying our giant parcels of laundry in. Which is, if I may say, well nigh impossible.
Sorry. Off track again. My concern is actually for you. I can’t even imagine the difficulty you yourself have in wrangling your baskets through the constrained aperature of your car door, kicking it shut, and then side-shuffling between the building and your car to get to the door. So why bother? Why not heed the fricken’ NO PARKING signs and simply put your car into one of the more conventional parking spaces? I know, you’ve probably been coming here a lot longer than me. And someday I too will indulge in the great honor of looking out at my car right outside the window. It’s pretty sweet, I bet.
Very Sincerely Yours,