Why Don’t We, Together

STEVE: Hello, and welcome back to, “A Neighbor is Stalking Me, and Doing a Very Poor Job of Hiding It.” I’m a Fixation of a Sick and Perverse Individual in Need of Serious Help.

Sometimes – quite frequently, actually – people like to leave strange notes under my door, tucked into my car visor, or by knocking on my wall in a rather poor attempt at morse code.

Coincidentally, I also can’t be bothered to write original material from time to time. Such as now. So, I thought this a perfect opportunity to share one of my favorite bits of what I desperately pretend is fanmail, yet very much isn’t at all.

STEVE HOLDS UP A SHEET OF PAPER.

(READS) “Dear Doug… My husband of fifteen years refuses to touch me in any way other than confusion, our son won’t stop making vague threats to cats online, and I’ve recently found myself fantasizing about the elderly Filipino man who operates the coin laundry. I have everything I could ever want. Why do poor people make me sad?” Signed, “Irritated in Irvine.”

Thank you for your uncomfortable and wholly uninvited bit of correspondence, Irritated. And to be perfectly honest, I do suspect your problem lies in a distinct lack of empathy and a condition I like to call, “Being a crazy word some people will take great offense to if I said out loud while simultaneously ignoring the precise context in which such a word is being used.” That said, please do tell me more about this elderly Filipino man.