Letters From the Bus
Mr. Can I Use Your Phone Edition
Dear Mr. Can I Use Your Phone:
By all means. I love nothing more than strangers in dire need of a thorough grooming breathing any and all diseases they may be harboring (and in your case, they may be numerous) all over something I regularly hold to my face. Nothing repays kindness like TB, I say.
May I also say that when I refuse your request due to what in this case might be a healthy dose of germaphobia, ramping up your sob story won’t help. Even if I could overcome the image of your halitosis engulfing my phone in a bacteria-laden cloud, the smell of bullshit makes me contrary. Also, just, you know, FYI, telling me you got out of prison a mere two hours ago isn’t winning you sympathy points, and the story about your girlfriend’s kids hating you because she is in the hospital with jaundice makes me think you have hepatitis, which in turn makes me even less inclined to lend you my phone.
Oh, and by the way, do they not allow toothbrushes in prison? Were you a shiv risk? Seriously, could they not have slipped you a little mouthwash? I think I’ll go sit over there with Freaky Guy Who Smells Like Dog.
Can’t Ding the Bell Fast Enough,
Lily