Dear Mr. Man (and I use Mr. and Man loosely):

Every now and again, I see you in the A.M. as I wait in front of the Holiday Inn Express downtown, for my bus to arrive. You're usually wearing a t-shirt that illustrates the fact that you're a street cleaner. Perhaps this is your chosen profession, or perhaps that's what a judge sentenced you to do for committing whichever petty crime you indulged yourself in. Either way, I appreciate the fact that you clean up the debris, ciggie butts, that you sweep away the hocked loogies on the ground, shards of glass, or what have you. I'm grateful that you're working towards keeping the city clean (even if it's something you may not have chosen to do on your own accord). I'm glad you do that, even if you slither by me lasciviously with your broom and dustpan, and croon in the slimy sounding melody: "How you doin'?" as your eyes dance up and down in all their prurient glory... Usually I pretend not to see or hear you as I hide behind a mask of dark shades and disgust. Sometimes I suck it up, choke down the bile rising in my throat, and manage to mutter some sort of terse reply to your greeting. Perhaps the last time you saw me, you mistook the slight twist of my mouth (in disdain) or the sneer for a sheepish grin because this morning, you ambled by once again, and this time you stopped... right in front of me, much to my chagrin.

" 'scuse me sweeth'a't, you know how to get rid of text messages in a cell phone?"

I stared at you, at once flummoxed and agitated... I also rubber necked past you, and noted my bus at the stop light just down the street. I considered how long it would take me to reach for my pepperspray, and any nearby police cruisers in the surrounding area in case you decided to try something stupid. I pondered all of these things, in the brief moment of space and time you asked me that ridiculous question, before sighing exasperatedly and answering "What?"

"I got a lotta text messages in my cell phone and I don't know how to delete them. You know how to do dat?"

I glared at you from behind my shades again, and then shrugged indifferently before replying

"Go to your phone's menu settings and you should be able to access the tools you need to do that."

I rubber necked over your shoulder one mo'gin to see what was taking the damn bus so long at that stop light! "Can you jus' show me, 'cuz I don't know how to and I got a lot of them" you said, as you sidled, uncomfortably close next to me and flipped open your cell phone. I stared at you incredulously and said, "ummmm, I don't think so..." Then you shoved your phone in my hand and said, "I honestly don't know how to delete them" and you moved even closer next to me, almost shoulder to shoulder... I stared up at you, annoyed by this uninvited intrusion on my personal space , your phone sitting loosely in my hand, me ready to drop it on the ground, when I noticed you staring down my effing shirt. I angrily shoved your phone back at you and moved away, the nausea and loathing working it's way back up my throat... luckily the bus I needed was making its way towards me. You? You looked slightly alarmed at my reaction... and said, "Uh, okay sweeth'a't... thanks anyway" and skulked off. I hope you didn't think I'd be impressed or happy by your behavior! Perhaps it has been a long time since you've sidled up next to a woman, perhaps my enchanting scent drew you in and made you practically dry hump my leg... in any event I don't appreciate it... and your lamer than lame tactic was pure comedy and more importantly, it wasn't cool. You were going down the right road, if you were looking to get maced.

xoxo Coffey