A Letter to a Neighbor

Dear Black Man who sits in a wheelchair outside of my apartment:

Sir, I feel we all have certain rights living in this country but you, you have crossed a line. Sitting outside of my apartment each night when I go out to walk my dog has got to stop. You are not there in the morning when I stumble out to make sure I didn't crash my car the night before. You are not there in the afternoon when I come home from work to enjoy a midday white wine spritzer. Do you sit in your apartment and wait for my Jeep to pull into its spot after my long work day, then wheel yourself downstairs and promptly perch on the sidewalk awaiting my arrival? And why do you always wear the same Denver Broncos jersey? No matter rain or shine there you sit, limp ankles crossed, loyally sporting hot orange fatigue. How many of those things do you own or are you really doing that much laundry? Is that how you fill your days washing and drying the same jersey? Please note, I do not like sports or the color orange or anything referring to or in the proximity of Denver, Colorado. I’d very much prefer you to wear a nice button down. Or, maybe a soft cotton V-neck. Try cobalt blue – it will bring out your eyes. 

And why, the second you see me coming down the stairs do you whip out a fake flip phone that I’m not even sure ever worked and pretend to be talking “business”. Who could you possibly be conducting business with outside in the dark? I never see you write anything down and you don’t even have a calculator or a briefcase. You do however have black Fila swish pants. And snap pants. And hammer pants. I highly doubt you are making plans to “have your lawyer look over the papers” or are weary of “the spike in your competitors sales” wearing such leisure bottoms.

More importantly, don’t think for one second I don’t notice you on the weekend nights rocking hair gel – just because I don’t have to work the next morning is no reason for you to get fancy. I don’t want a ride, I will not take a seat, and never again ask me to push you around. I won’t be swayed by your average looks and Acqua Di Gio for men. And if I have to tell you one more time that my dog is named after Steve Martin the actor NOT an ex-boyfriend I will gladly uproot your kickstand or let some of the air out of one of your tires. (I will tell you which tire first so you don’t roll off the curb too quickly or hit a parked car) Sexual harassment is inappropriate whether one’s limbs work or not. However, thank you for the stick of gum the other night and for complimenting my ass in my skinny jeans. I've been doing lunges.

Sincerely, Apt. 4103

WAZ