Open Letter to My Cable Guy

Dear Cable Guy,

Maybe I should have realized it when you walked in and started rambling about god knows what for minutes on end, instead of asking me what you were there to fix. But I just thought you were friendly.

Perhaps it was a clue when you started singing in the middle of your own sentences. I figured you might just be a really musical person. Whatever that means.

One particular highlight was when you referred to yourself as "this nigga right here" twice during our very one-sided conversation.

I started to catch on when you dropped your equipment about 4 times within the first 7 minutes you were in my apartment. Still wasn't sure though.

And for the exorbitant amount of time you were on my roof, I was more worried that you might have fallen off and were lying in an alley nearby, bleeding internally.

So it really wasn't until you came back down from the roof and walked by me at close proximity that I realized you were completely shit-faced. Reeking of booze. While working. At 4:30pm. Nice.

Far be it for me, of all people, to lecture anyone else on substance abuse, but I generally don't recommend drinking when you know you're going to be spending the whole day messing around with various electrical outlets and the like. So maybe lay off the moonshine a little longer next time you're working - maybe until 5pm or so? - and then I won't have to worry about you so much.

Sincerely,

Zander

P.S. For future reference, I don't think most customers would take it as well as I did when you started looking through my mp3 collection and critiquing certain selections. We had an 80's party, so I downloaded a few songs that might not qualify as Grammy-worthy. Cut me some slack.

P.P.S. Don't suppose you have any recommendations on where to find a good flask?