An Open Letter to the Makers of Captchas

Dear Mega-Tools,

Wow, well you guys have definitely been busy upping the ante on difficult captchas. You know, the ones where you can't tell if it's a 2 or a Z, and the ones that use horribly misspelled words. Captchas like this:

WTF?

According to the reCAPTCHA site, which is run by Google (who knew?), "About 200 million CAPTCHAs are solved by humans around the world every day. In each case, roughly ten seconds of human time are being spent. Individually, that's not a lot of time, but in aggregate these little puzzles consume more than 150,000 hours of work each day."

The thing is, I don't want to spend even ten seconds of my day on these ridiculous puzzles.  But today the Pennsylvania Department of State's website wanted me to reconstruct this gem that I promise took about 20 minutes:

A MACRON?  REALLY?  You want me to figure out how to get a diacritic over the letter "o" before you'll allow me to search your site?  I can't even do that in Word, much less on the Interwebs.

Cool it with the nerd power trip, guys.  Here's a super easy way to tell if I'm human - I'll be the one screaming at the screen. 

XOXO,

S

An Open Letter to Allstate Workplace Division

Dear Epic Fail,

Dude, as an insurer, your company sucks.  Of course that's just my opinion, but let's run through why.

First of all, your website provides the the opposite of helpful information. See below:

Second, you routinely received my self-submitted claims (I had to do all the work!  It should have been easy for you!) and did nothing with them for periods of months.  Your website itself makes the astounding claim that not only do you "care about [me] and [my] family and are committed to providing prompt, accurate and courteous claim processing services," but that "claims will be processed in less than 10 business days if all claim forms are completed accurately and no additional information is required."  You have never indicated that my forms are inaccurate nor that you need additional information.  So how come it's been two months?  And how come when I call to force the issue, your employee tells me my forms were received just fine, but they just haven't been processed.  Like this happens all the time.  BECAUSE IT DOES.  If I billed you my standard hourly rate for all the time I've had to spend tracking down unprocessed claims, you'd owe me approximately $203,394.00. 

Third, it took you months to issue a completely inane denial of one of my claims.  I still don't understand why you wouldn't jump up and down for the opportunity to cover preventative care, but whatever.  When I appealed because I am that person, you sat on my appeal form for FOUR MONTHS.  Even then, I had to call to get it "re-sent" to your review board.  You reversed your denial, which I appreciate - I really do - but do you understand that I had to pay my doctor's office for those fees almost a year prior?  You got to earn interest for quite a while on those unpaid fees, while I was out that money entirely.  Not cool.  

Finally, your employees could not BE more unhelpful.  Every call is clearly an inconvenience.  I've tried explaining that I don't want to be calling.  I just want my insurance company to process my claims.  Unfortunately, your employees tell me there's nothing they can do.  Sometimes these things just happen, they explain. 

You know what I think?  I think you're banking your business on wearing us down.  If you make us submit claims ourselves, you can eliminate X claims because some people won't go through the trouble.  Then if you just don't process them, you'll eliminate another X claims when your insureds don't make an effort to track down the status.  You're playing the numbers.  Except that promptly processing the claims as you've publicly promised you would isn't some kind of marketing flash, it's not a rebate, it's not an incentive to buy.  It's the minimum.  And you're failing.  

Cordially,

S

An Open Letter to the State of Minnesota

Dear Great White Northern Land That Tries To Kill Its Inhabitants,


Really, Minnesota? Snow? I kind of hate you.

Frostily,
S

An Open Letter to the Maker of Oscar Mayer Deli Fresh Lunch Meats.

Dear Kraft Foods,

You suck.

I have loved your Deli Fresh Rotisserie Chicken cold cuts for years and years. In the past, I have purchased a plethora of packages with abandon. But as I explained in my email to you, my husband and I are now on a strict grocery budget. Because he's selfish like that, the DNB refuses to forgo milk so I can continue indulging in the tasty goodness of your Deli Fresh lunch meats. As disappointing as it is to all of us that my husband was raised to drink milk with every meal, I have a list of other things I'm trying to change about him first. Like how whenever he opens ANYTHING, he leaves the packaging remnants scattered hither and yon. Or the fact that he's trying to "bring back" the word gnarly. So you can see I have my hands tied on the milk-for-meat thing.

All I wanted from you was a coupon. I'm not talking anything big - I mean, you have CEO bonuses to dole out, I get that. 50 cents off, even 30 cents off. A little gesture for a customer who's spend roughly $5,098.45 on your Deli Fresh meats over the years. A little something for a customer who wants to remain loyal in the midst of an economic downturn the likes of which we haven't seen for decades.

But Kim, the Associate Director of Consumer Relations, refused. "About your request for coupons, I don't have any coupons I am able to pass along to you. The best place for you to find coupons for our products would be in places like newspapers, magazines and on tear-off pads displayed at your grocery." Let's walk through this again Kim, because I don't think you're hearing me.

I told you that I'm on a BUDGET. You suggest that to get a 40 cent coupon, I should buy a $3.99 magazine. I wasn't on Math League in middle school or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's not a great deal.

In conclusion, Kraft, I'm not buying your Deli Fresh lunch meats anymore.

Also, I want to tell you a true story. Once upon a time, Kemp's ice cream went on sale at Rainbow Foods. Yes, I know Rainbow is a stupid name for a grocery store. The sale was amazing - Kemp's was far cheaper than even the generic Rainbow brand ice cream, which trust me on this, is DISGUSTING. Well I paired that sale with a Kemp's coupon, and even though it's usually fairly expensive, that deal allowed me to try the brand for the first time and STAY WITHIN MY BUDGET. I couldn't get over the fact that ice cream that delicious was that cheap, so I wrote to the Kemp's people and told them it was like a Christmas Miracle. And do you know what they did, Kraft Foods? They sent me a coupon. Not just any measly 50 cents off coupon like I was hoping for from you - but a FREE HALF GALLON COUPON. That's like a $4 value. Ever since then, coupon or not, I've bought nothing but Kemp's brand ice cream.

The moral of the story, as should be apparent, is to always leave a note. And also, send a coupon.

Formerly Yours,
S

An Open Letter to Someone For Whom I Did Not Vote

dear jeffrey beck,

stop googling yourself. but if you won't, stop clicking through to my site. it looks a bit desperate.

with hopes that capitalization becomes one of your skills,
S

An Open Letter to People We Know, or Even Don't, Who are Having Babies

Mmm-kay. I'm gonna need you to go ahead and CUT THAT OUT. Because when you people have babies, this sappy bowl of sappiness I have for a husband gets all nostalgic and starts knitting booties and frankly it's getting to be a little much.

I can't keep a houseplant alive, and we have owned fish that died THE VERY DAY WE GOT THEM. Really, I'm not the nurturing type. I attribute the Buds' continuing existence to the fact that they come from that hardy Bichon stock and have learned to drag their bowl around the kitchen when they need it filled with water.

So as soon as you can, you know, stop with all that, it'd be great. Because if the DNB looks over at me tenderly during another birthing scene in a movie I'm going to have to go out and purchase that Pottery Barn crib just to call his bluff.

Big hugs,
Auntie S

An Open Letter to the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser

Dear Honorable Sir,

You're not a hyperbole, which I appreciate. You really are, in fact, Magic.

For some reason, my kitchen sink is made of porcelin or ceramic or some other easily scratchable surface, which may have looked nice when originally installed, until 20 seconds later when someone actually washed a dish. I obsessed over those black marks for weeks, searching countless hardware stores for the plumbers' rubber Google assured would remove them.

I bought you on a whim, on a day when I imagined that I would clean like the Housewife I was not born to be. I tried you on the sink, without an ounce of elbow grease, and you WORKED! Immediately! I was so inspired I cleaned the whole kitchen with you. Lo and below, the counters were actually white, not tan. Who knew?

They say children are a Gift from God, but it's clear, Mr. Eraser, that you, actually, are it.

With sincere hopes for your perpetual existence,
S

An Open Letter to the Children Currently Populating Hospitals in the Twin Cities Vicinity

Dear Disease-Ridden Gifts from God,

I'm sure you're all very cute and special in your own ways, but please stop passing your horrible little kid-germs to my husband so that he can stop passing them on to me. See, this is why we don't have children, because we like to be happy and healthy and have complete conversations without anyone screaming "Mommy? Mommymommymommymommy!"

With kind thanks,
S

How an Open Letter to the People of Minneapolis Would Read, if Written by the Snow Emergency Parking Committee

Dear Valued Minneapolis Resident,

The City of Minneapolis works hard to plow the streets quickly after a snowstorm, and to this end our committee has created an exhaustive list of street parking rules which go into effect at 9pm on the day a Snow Emergency is declared. The purpose of this letter is to provide a friendly reminder of these rules so that everyone may enjoy a safe and tow-free winter.

If you fail to move your car in accordance with these rules, not only will we be forced to tow your car, but also to kick you repeatedly in the shins while making fun of your mom. It's not pretty, but we didn't spend 67 hours in meetings making this shit up just to have you people ignore it.

What seems to make things a little more challenging for those of you from the "community" is that Snow Emergencies last, by definition, for three days. Also, the rules change each day. And the first "day" of a Snow Emergency isn't actually even a day, but rather an overnight period. Trust us, we have our reasons.

So.

On Day 1, which lasts from 9pm to 8am, be aware that you may not park on either side of a street which is a Snow Emergency Route. Feel free to park anywhere else with all the flagrant abandon you can muster when it's -10 outside and you've just spent 3 hours commuting 5 miles home from work.

On Day 2, which falls between 8am and 8pm (because too many of you would have caught on if we were consistent with the 9pm thing), you may not park on the even side of any street which is not a Snow Emergency Route. Also, you may not park on either side of a parkway. What is a parkway, you ask? Well, you'll know them because their names end with the word "parkway." Except for the parkways which don't use the word parkway at all, but rather are titled "street," "drive," or "avenue."

On the final day of a Snow Emergency, again 8am - 8pm (you'd better believe that one was a gift), you may not park on the odd side of any street which is not a Snow Emergency Route. Parking on parkways, whether titled parkway, street, drive, or avenue, is once again permitted.

In closing, there are a few additional items we would like to bring to your attention.

First, a note from our lawyers: please make special note of the fact that if you own a four-wheel drive vehicle and fail to move it, the city will not be liable if it neglects to use a flatbed to tow your car, rips off the front end, sells the whole thing to a junk yard for scrap metal, and then fails to notify you. At this time, we cannot comment further on this strictly hypothetical situation.

Finally, the aforementioned rules will be considered null if the first day of a Snow Emergency falls on the second, fourth, or fifth Wednesday of the month, and will be reversed on Opposite Day.

Cordially,
The Minneapolis Snow Emergency Parking Committee

An Open Letter to the Inventor of Wine

Dear Sir/Ma'am (or possibly Jesus),

I think you got shafted. Many of us use the phrase "the best thing since sliced bread." Whoever came up with that grossly inadequate comparison has clearly never tried wine.

WINE IS THE BEST THING SINCE WINE!

The beauty of wine is that it allows you to get drunk while looking ridiculously classy. No one ever looks trashy drinking wine, it's crazy. And perhaps you thought of this from the outset, but whether it comes from a box or a $150 bottle, all wine looks the same in my glass.

Brilliant.

With major kudos from one of your biggest fans,
S

An Open Letter to Conair, Makers of My Toaster Oven

To Whom it May Concern,

You people suck big time.

Oh, the new toaster oven arrived quickly for sure. That's probably because Arizona and Minnesota are so close, like your helpful customer service rep pointed out.

But it's not all unicorns and English Muffins around here yet. You see, the toaster you sent me was packed with only the thinnest layer of bubble wrap between it and the cold, unfeeling world. And that world smashed it.

I kid you not, Conair, every bit of plastic on the thing was cracked or shattered, much like my heart when I realized I would not be enjoying any crunchy, buttery, muffiny goodness. This is the second time you've let me down, and I fear our tenuous relationship is coming to an end.

When I called again to complain about my shattered dreams, your representative assured me that UPS would come to my home to pick up the toaster oven and that another would be on its way post haste!

Lies!

No one has come. And every day I look sadly on the smashed toaster and wish I could smash you, Conair.

Less & less fondly,
S

An Open Letter to People Who Drive with A Blinker On

To Whom it May Concern: Because you drive in the left hand lane for miles, left blinker flashing all the while, I cannot respect you as drivers. You are probably also bad people.

An Open Letter to the Guy Next to Me in the Tricked-Out, Bling-Max Sports Car

Dear Bad-Ass,

I got you, bro. You've got an image to maintain.

You've got the car. You've got the sunroof open. You've got the rims. You've got the too-tight muscle tee. You've got the expensive sunglasses. You've got the gangsta music blaring.

But when you parked and walked into the tanning salon, you shot it all to hell. Just FYI.

Peace out,
S

An Open Letter to the Two Girls Who Are Consistently Late to BarBri

Dear Ladies,

You two have been late every single day we've had class. That means, to date, my attention has been diverted from our lecture to your noisy asses walking in late TWENTY-SEVEN TIMES.

Seriously, you've been doing this commute for three years. You're smart girls, you graduated from law school, you know how long it takes you to make the drive. In case you're confused, though, I can let you know that it takes at least 30 minutes longer than you've been planning for.

Girls, when you're late, everyone else is already seated. Which means you have to climb over seats and backpacks to the middle of the row; your lunch bag, breakfast bag, computer bag (because God knows you can't be away from the internet long enough to pass the Bar), and giant purse nearly tipping drinks and smacking the heads of everyone you pass. Then, once at your seat, you have to get yourself situated, which always seems to involve setting up a three- or four-course meal of crunchy, involved foodstuffs.

And when you were both late to our practice test, with your usual vast productions of entries, I wanted to throw a Number 2 pencil at your collective heads. I wondered how much more rude can you be? And the answer is none. None more rude.

So get it in gear, show up on time, and stop being giant douchebags to the rest of us who are trying to learn this shit. And if you walk in late again, bearing a Starbucks cup, Row 5 is going to assault you, and when you wonder why they have an affirmative defense you didn't know about, don't ask to borrow. my. notes.

Kisses,
S