An open letter to my neighborhood assholes:
Occasionally, I eat chips. There’s a store on my way home that sells them in smaller two-for-a-dollar bags. When I have the money, the hunger, the inclination, and the time, I’ll sometimes get off my bus a few stops early, purchase a bag, and eat them as I walk the extra mile home. I will eat them in public as I walk down the street alone.
And to be fair, most of the time, what happens is that I walk, I eat chips, and other people leave me alone.
Then there are days like today. I will be walking with an open bag of chips — I don’t even have to be actively eating them — and someone on a bike (like today) or in a car with the windows rolled down (as on other days) yells at me, “Put down the chips!” as they pass by.
The point of this letter is to say NO. The point of this letter is to call bullshit on your assholery.
You cannot convincingly claim any pretense of being concerned for my health. You do not know how often I eat chips, how many I’ve eaten or plan to eat, what else I’ve eaten this day, or what my other activity levels have been. Evidence? You never stopped to ask. Instead, you flung a shaming command from a faster moving vehicle and wheeled on your way — before you would have had to engage with me.
Thus, I can only conclude that you’re a coward, more concerned with building yourself up by shaming me.
Either that, or you really, really wanted my chips. If that was the case — next time just ask nicely. I will gladly share.
Until then, though, fuck off!