Thursday, February 05, 2009

Underground Garage Banned

Dear Mr. Vandelay,

This letter is to inform you about the parking garage designed by your architectural firm. I have been using this garage on a daily basis for the last five years of my employment. By my calculations, I have parked there approximately 1,180 times. My research comes with a lot of insight into the nuances of P1, P2, and P3. I apologize if this letter is duplicative of other people’s efforts to bring certain items to your attention.

A few concerns:
  • You did not use the correct instruments to calibrate the final design. It appears that the underground garage was not built to full scale. Most cars designed for the road today aren’t the size of mopeds with the turning radius of Matchbox cars.

  • There are no road spikes installed for individuals who want to back their cars into a spot. Ideally, this should not be an issue since it is only one extra turn. Unfortunately, the majority of people attempting to back-in their cars suffer from mild hand-eye retardation coordination. One extra turn becomes five extra turns, six brake pumps, and a line of cars waiting to pass. Having spikes for cars backing in would be a helpful deterrent for those who failed Easy Method due to their heads being lodged up their ass.
  • The arrows pointing the direction for one-way traffic in the garage are very helpful. However, these arrows might need to be changed from a simple white to a fluorescent blinking green for select individuals with either 1) a poor sense of direction, or 2) the inability to comprehend basic shapes (i.e., the shape of an arrow). Or perhaps a patrolman could monitor the parking lot to find offenders going in the wrong direction. And perhaps that patrolman could have a gun with live ammunition. And he would be fully authorized to use that weapon against violators. And we would fondly call him, “Tackleberry” as he lays waste to the directionally challenged.
"Reloading and heading to Level 2, Sir."
  • The lighting lacks light. The Silence of The Lambs appears to have been the inspiration for your garage. I don’t want to have to worry about putting the lotion on my skin in order to not get the hose again. All I want to do is see my parking spot without using my high beams and fog lights in tandem.

"You were looking for a parking spot? Follow me."
  • After successfully avoiding all of the pitfalls listed above, there is one minor obstacle left: avoiding death as a pedestrian. There are no sidewalks or crosswalks. No lights guiding you to the safety of the elevators. Pedestrians are viewed with as much empathy as squirrels trying to make it to the other side of the road. There have been five pedestrian deaths in our garage…this week. Hitting pedestrians is not only viewed as normal, I believe it is encouraged. All that is left for the pedestrian is instincts as they imitate an extra on the set of Death Race 2000. Just thought I’d let you know.
I’m sure these items are minor oversights by your firm. If you could research and provide a written report as to how these issues will be addressed, it would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Corporate Joe

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Gift Getting

FADE IN:

A father and son gather around his birthday presents. The father beams with pride as his son carefully chooses the first gift. The son's eyes lock in like radar on the largest box of the bunch.

SON
Dad, can you help me open it up?

FATHER
Sure thing.

They work together in perfect synchronicity tearing the paper with purpose. They pull back in awe of what was found.

SON
Cool!

FATHER
Let me help you open the box.


SON
Oh, man, a Power Ranger. Awesome!

FATHER
Let me pull this out of the plastic.
Hold on, there are some wires to untangle.


SON
Hurry, hurry!

FATHER
I'm trying, hold on. There are some fasteners in the back.
Man, they are not playing around here.


FATHER
Voila!


FATHER
For Christ's sake, there are more fasteners!?

SON
Mommy says that's a bad word.

FATHER
You're right son, that'll be our little secret. 
Let me get these off.


FATHER
Are you shitting me? 
These are wrapped around the axle!

SON
Mommy says that's a bad word too.

FATHER
No one likes a tattle-tale. So just zip it.
Let me get this wire out of the axle.


FATHER
Rubber bands? Rubber f*cking bands!

SON
Mommy...

FATHER
I know what Mommy says. Do you see Mommy around? No.
I just see you and me. So why don't you just
sit criss-cross applesauce and shut your trap.


The Father struggles impatiently with the tangled web of rubber bands and wires. His grunts morph into a loud roar. His son scootches back on the linoleum in fear.

SON
Dad, you're turning green.

The Father's pants begin to rip at the seams as he continues to struggle with the imprisoned present.

FATHER
Let me get this out. AHHHHHHHHHH!


SON
Daddy, No!

FATHER
Run, son. Before it's too late. 
This is between me and the present. 
RUNNNNNNNNNN!

FADE TO BLACK