| To the guys who’ve been jackhammering and tearing up the road outside my apartment for the last 6 months, to no effect: I don’t hate you, I hate what you represent. A time in the future when my taxes will be paying for your deafening ineptitude.
To the glum Portuguese photographer who sits in the window of your little studio balefully watching the St. Laurent foot traffic pass your business by: I noticed you and, since I like to support the little guy, I made a mental note to get my passport photos done at your place. Imagine my shock when I found out you charge
$13, while the big, nasty chain drugstore ½ block away charges $7. No matter how in focus and centered your passport photos are, I’m not going to frame them for posterity. I don’t know if you’re a thieving moron or a moronic thief, but I do know that you should be out of business. Bad luck to you and may you stub your toe
in the darkroom. To the e-Bay store that sold me Nike running shoes that turned out to be cheap fakes shipped to me in a cardboard box from China: Taste a black bear’s ass. Your site guaranteed authentic shoes, and included helpful tips for spotting fake Nikes. I see now that your positive feedback was typed exclusively by the right hands
of 14 year-old boys who spend too much time in their rooms and have no need of arch support or a non-marking sole. I hope Phil Knight’s pocket calculator tells him that he can make more money by cracking down on you fraudsters and having the Chinese courts condemn you to suffer every prison movie cliché, except the escape. To the retro and hipster shops on St. Laurent Boulevard: Stop amassing old junk from rummage sales and dumpsters and rebranding it retro chic by virtue of the fact that it’s in your store. Every time I look in I see the same badly scuffed vinyl records, dirty clothes and worn out kitchenware, watched over by the same tired
hoydens with piercings. I’d have more respect for you if you just went ahead and sold vintage piles of dry and crumbling feces. If you’re not ready to lower your hypocrisy threshold to that level, at least take those melting records out of the window and invest in a mop and pail. Better yet, take out student loans, get an
education and do something worthwhile. To the Arabic market where I bought a bag of spices that turned out to be four years old: Inhale deeply from my cat’s litter box. I opened the bag just to confirm that the mixture would have the full aroma of North African desert sand. When you’re running a business, you have to take inventory periodically. When a product
gets long in the tooth, mark it down, multiple times if necessary, but if nobody buys it you must accept the cruel logic of the free market and throw it away. Or I might know a few shops on St. Laurent who would take it off your hands, cheap. |
