Dear Hungry Man in Detroit,

Dear Hungry Man in Detroit,
I would like to commend you on your exceedingly effective change collection tactic. Others, with a cup or an outstretched hand, implore the baseball watching masses to give what they will. A passerby can easily dismiss them by simply looking the other way, or internally reasoning that the person wants too much, or that they will use said donation on vice or the like.
You, on the other hand, have honed a technique that could easily take the panhandling profession by storm. Combining a stalker/specificity approach, you were able to squeeze me for every last dime I had. Literally. Granted, Joe and I together had a grand total of $2.25 (in quarters) to our names, but, after said technique was employed, you walked away a richer man than we.
As a courtesy, I will now clue you in on my side of the transaction, as I’m sure your market research budget is somewhat overdrawn at this juncture. You were effective in acquiring our change because:
1)You were specific. Naming the amount you wanted, 75cents, put things into perspective. I probably had 75 cents, and I could most definitely spare it. It was in no way an unreasonable request, and it made me think that maybe you were going to buy food with it* because I, too, have scrounged for quarters (in my car seats) in order to buy two sliders.
2)You put forth effort. Though I did not think for one second that you actually cared about the outcome of the baseball game, your inquiry instantly made you a person. This directly combated my former change keeping maneuver, that operated on the premise that those without a face or voice could be ignored, because I could quickly forget about them. Once someone is a person, I cannot imagine him or her away, like we selfish suburbanites often do. Instead, I must internalize you as a fellow human, just like me, in need, and not a “huddled mass” that can easily be overlooked.
3)You were semi scary in a passive way. Walking towards us from across the street showed that you were speaking only to us. This made us realize early on that we could not rely on fellow sidewalk travelers to address your concerns. Beyond that, your dedication to imploring us past our initial shoulder shrugging, and the adjustment of your gait to match ours signaled that you might have actually got in the truck and come home with us if we did not find anything to give you right then.
4)You made me think about you. Evidence: this letter.
Good luck in future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Tigers Fan

P.S. Next game, as part of my own market research, I’m going to make you a sack lunch. Do you want strawberry or grape jelly?


*Foot note to point #1: I, in no way, care what you did with the aforementioned trifle. Unlike some people that I have recently spoken with, I don’t have a problem feeding whatever it is that is keeping you warm or alive. I am not your judge, and cannot imagine ever being that condescending.

Dear A Stapler,

Dear A Stapler,
A letter of thanks is in order at this time, and I intend to deliver it, as late as it may be. This thank you is all inclusive, and applies to both the sturdy rubber bottom desk stapler and the mini backpack stapler, the electrically driven automatic stapler and the Bob Vila style staple gun, for you handy types.
Of all desk effects, you are the most taken for granted, and yet, the most functional. You are as dynamic as your title of compound machine suggests. Your subtle presence screams office building, yet affirms home. Your ability to puncture flesh lets us know that you are not messing around, and that next to the paper shredder, you are the one to watch. And yet, your simple ease of use and performance asserts a sense of comfort and dependability.
You are the golden retriever of office supplies. You sit patiently, waiting to helpfully bind pages of homework, receipts, or litigation. You are loyal and bring together.
You are also an absolute necessity when any kind of paperwork is to be done. In fact, I would have a slight knot in my stomach if you were missing in any kind of paper situation. Your work is quick and permanent, unlike your inept associate, Paper Clip. Unlike Clip, your clamping does not slide off unexpectedly, or hide in inconvenient places like the bottom of pen holders.
Sure, you jam up sometimes and occasionally run out of staples every 300 clicks. But Stapler, I know this is just to remind me of your presence and gain some needed attention. You do a good job, Stapler, I will write you a recommendation anytime.

Sincerely Yours,
A Receptionist

P.S. I didn’t forget about you, A Staple Remover. I know that you are underappreciated, and are always there to clean up after A Stapler, who gets all the glory. Stay strong, your time will come. Keep your chin up.

Note: I was inspired to write about my love of the stapler while reading John Mayer's Dear A Pear.

Dear Grandma-

Dear Grandma-
Thank you for inviting me to your Mother's Day banquet. I know this note is a little late, but I did not want to send it along without photos. I originally was hesitant about attending because I thought it would be a room full of women that I didn't know singing juvenile Sunday school songs and eating mediocre catered roast beef. Instead, it was a room full of wonderful women I didn't know singing charmingly juvenile Sunday school songs and eating mediocre catered pork chops. It was great! Thank you for being the ultimate matriarch.
Love,
Your granddaughter
P.S. I promise I will get baptized. Sometime soon. Okay, well, before the rapture.