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Dear Volkswagen:

I don’t love you any more. I want a divorce.

We used to be so great together. It was love at first sight between you (in the form of my Eos) and me. Then a year ago, our relationship soured. My Eos started making me look bad, then tried to kill me. Over and over again.

Let me explain:

In September of last year, the door upholstery on the passenger side inexplicably came unglued. I took it to my local dealer, Vaden Volkswagen, expecting it to be fixed immediately. My service consultant said he had seen it before but that you won’t repair it. Really? Um. OK.

I took it to a body shop he recommended. The fellow there said that he could glue it back for $90 but that it would just come unglued again. He could also replace the door for $700.

I gulped. Hard.

Then I colored in the fiberglass underneath with Sharpie so it wasn’t as noticeable (see Exhibit A) and pretended it hadn’t happened.

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

In May, the upholstery on the driver side came unglued (see Exhibit B).

Exhibit B

Exhibit B

Let me interrupt myself to point out that I take care of my car. I keep the car in the garage at home and I park in a parking garage at work.

When I showed this new development to my service consultant, he said, “Well, you do have more than 100,000 miles on your car.” Yes, that may be. However, I’m not driving on the top of the doors.

I spoke to two of your “customer care” representatives. They told me, basically, “Tough luck.”

So I’ve posted a public notice (Exhibit C).

Exhibit C

Exhibit C

Then the car started trying to kill me. I would be driving down the road and suddenly pressing the gas pedal would not accelerate the car. The car would hop a few times and coast. No gas. Then, just as suddenly, the gas pedal would work again.

I took it in for the first of many, many attempts to diagnose the problem. I even had the fuel pump replaced. See Exhibit D for proof (ignore your consultant’s inability to spell):

Exhibit D

Exhibit D

Even though this situation happens to me EVERY SINGLE TIME I drive the car, your technicians can’t duplicate the problem or figure out what’s wrong. I even took video of it happening not once but twice.

It’s apparently a real headscratcher. To you.

This puzzle is going to get me killed. Imagine my dismay when this happens on I-16 as I drive my two kids to school.

So my Eos — the car I loved completely and paid off happily — is unsightly and unsafe.

And you can’t and won’t do anything about it.

That’s why I want a divorce.

In the meantime, I’m telling everyone I know about my problems with you. Remember this quote by Douglas Adams in “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”:

Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws.

Here’s to getting justice in my own special way. I hope I see justice before I see a bright light …

Living in fear,
Beth

Dear Buffalo, New York:

I’ve enjoyed getting to know you over the past 24 hours. One of the many perks of my job is that I get to travel to different cities. I am an enthusiastic explorer, always willing to try new things and go new places.

I visited you once before. I was seeing a boyfriend in Cleveland and we decided to take a road trip to Niagara Falls. I don’t really remember anything about that trip though.

Of course I headed to Niagara Falls while seeing you again. Wash away old memories and make new.
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I also took a native up on her suggestion to eat at Duff’s.
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It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but the inside is magical.
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I ate at Anchor Bar also. Delightful!

I do need to talk to you about teeny tiny thing though. Teensy, really. This:
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What is going on here? Does the meat raffle come after winners of the gun raffle take their prizes out for practice? How can this be safe? Why is this held after wrestling? Are these two connected?

Also, I want to know why you don’t know how to use apostrophes. What? You don’t know what I’m talking about? Look in the background. Here — let me help:
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Oh Buffalo. I’m so disappointed.

Maybe we should just focus on the wings. And that amazing natural wonder. Yes. Let’s do that.

Those wings really are fantastic.

Hope to see you soon!
Beth

* a grammatically correct sentence

What white people need to know

Dear White People,

I have something to say and I hope you will listen to me as I am (mostly) one of you:

We have to stop thinking that our experience as white people is the same experience that people of other colors have.

Let me tell you a little about myself beyond my skin shade:

I once tried to make a fellow I was dating jealous by stating that Eddie (yes, the Eddie to whom I am now married) had asked me out. He said, “I don’t know what you want with that spic.”

I was shocked. I was shocked for the obvious reason (“What did you say?!?”) but also shocked because I realized for the first time that Eddie is Hispanic.

You may roll your eyes, but it is true. I never noticed. The last name should have been a dead giveaway, but he was just Eddie to me.

I went to a public elementary school in a mostly black neighborhood. My public high school was racially mixed. My parents taught me, in the immortal words of Martin Luther King Jr., to judge someone not “by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

So, to me, if someone is a complete ass, it is because he/she is an ass, not because his/her skin is brown, black, white, red, light brown, taupe, ecru or whatever.

However, that does not mean I spent my life as an understanding, evolved, enlightened (mostly) white person. I thought, as many of you do and as this writer did, that the world is a fair, equal place. That hard work will get you where you want and need to go. That people are inherently decent.

I was wrong.

So wrong.

I was a broadcast journalist for many years. One of my news friends, a beautiful black woman, told me once that clerks watched her in stores because they were afraid she was going to shoplift. I sighed and said, “Oh, it isn’t at all because you are gorgeous, and they’ve seen you on TV or anything!”

I did not understand that this was not a new phenomenon. It didn’t start happening after she started her news career.

She also said clerks wouldn’t touch her hand when they were giving back change. Even though I thought that couldn’t possibly be true, I changed my own behavior just in case. I now put my hands all over people when I give them my money.

These were real experiences for her. Truth be told, I had a hard time believing her simply because I had never had similar experiences. I didn’t have a frame of reference. I didn’t freakin’ get it. White people don’t get it.

Understand this: We white people don’t usually live in fear of the cops. (Unless we have done some Forensic Files-worthy stuff, that is.) Guess what: Many black people do.

racial-profiling

Along with most of America, I watched in horror as events unfolded in Ferguson, Missouri. The Justice Department now plans to investigate the Ferguson police department. Good.

White people, we do not know what it is like to be black, Hispanic, Asian, etc. We do not understand the experience of non-whites. So we have to stop pretending that our experience is universal. It’s not.

This has to stop. We cannot maintain the status quo. What it has been cannot be what it is or will be.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar makes an interesting point that some of the biggest tensions in America are not about race as much as they are about class.

Maybe he is right.

All I know is that it is impossible not to see difference in color. We just can’t attach judgement to that difference.

Please, fellow white people, understand that we’ve had it made for 400 years. Understand that we need to listen — really listen — when people of other shades talk about their experiences. Understand that we need to make a change.

All men (and women) are created equal, right?

Yours in enlightenment,
Beth

Dear West Chatham YMCA,

I’ve been a member since you opened. My family and I have taken advantage of the gym, the classes, Kid Fit, the summer and holiday camps — almost everything you have to offer.

We may never again use the pool, though. (And it is not because of a “Code Brown.”)

Dominic complained this summer about having to attend Y camp because of all the rules, especially in the pool. As he is the child of mine who likes to push boundaries, I ignored him. I assumed he wanted to jump off the top of the slide or play WWE with his brother in the shallow end.

Oh no.

I saw for myself what he meant. Here are some of the rules I discovered in just 30 minutes.

You cannot:

• Run around the pool.
• Walk fast around the pool.
• Go near the pool when they are testing the pH.
• Dive.
• Swim under the lane markers.
• Follow too closely on the slide.
• Go down head-first on the slide.
• Go down backward on the slide.
• Go down sitting on the slide.
• Twist your body while going down the slide.
• Wear goggles while going down the slide.
• Stay too long in the shallow area once you’ve gone down the slide.
• Get out of the pool any way but via the stairs.
• Play in the water under the slide even if there is no one else in the pool.
• Jump into the pool any way but feet first.
• Go anywhere near people who are taking lessons.
• Yell with glee.

Each of these rules was announced by the lifeguard, prefaced by “Hey, Buddy!”

At one point, I actually whipped around and said, “What now?!?”

And this is coming from someone who appreciates rules.

Some of them I can certainly understand (running and diving seem like guaranteed tickets to the ER). Others, not so much.

What you’ve really guaranteed is a no-fun zone, patrolled by 16-year-old dictators hopped up on a little power.

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I realize you have these rules because of fear of litigation. I understand personal responsibility is nearly nonexistent in Amurka.

Allow me, please, to decide what’s safe and not safe for my children (within reason, of course) when I am in the water supervising. I promise I won’t sue. I’ll even sign a waiver.

I’m a member. Don’t you have to at least pretend to care what I think?

Thank you for your consideration of this request.
Beth

Dear Eddie,

I love you. I do. And that’s why I need to tell you something out of love and concern for your well-being and our medical flex-spending account:

Your basketball days are over.

You’ve said you are going to quit, but like a wicked meth mistress, it pulls you back.

You must stop now. For real. You just emerged from your third nasal realignment surgery (aka rhinoplasty, aka nose job). Your third. Third! Is that sinking in?

No?

Let me jog your memory about other basketball-related visits to the hospital: double knee surgery, plantar fascia repair, bicep reattachment, elbow reconstruction, hip consultations, shoulder scar-tissue cleansing or whatever that was. You are the new Six Million Dollar Man.

I’ve spent many hours of my life hanging out in the Memorial waiting room:

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Today’s confinement? Ten hours. Ten!

You are on a first-name basis with your orthopedic surgeon. “Oh hey, Eddie! Great to see you again!” — I actually heard that this morning from your anesthesiologist. Really, Dude? This isn’t crazy to you?

You are like a beautiful mural painted on a condemned building. You are rotting inside. All for the love of the game.

I love you. Please stop.

You have your CrossFit cult. You have the billion-dollar bicycle we bought when you were on your cycling kick. You don’t need basketball. You will find other ways to stay in shape.

I know you like basketball and you’re good at it. We all know that. You don’t have to prove anything. You’ve already proven yourself a force on the court and on the bench — in a uniform as a player and in a suit as a coach.

I’m taking away your various braces, pads, arm bands, kayak-sized basketball shoes, weird-smelling tank tops, athletic man Spanx, and other accoutrements of the game. You can still watch ESPN. You can start sentences with, “Back in my day …” You can coach our kids.

You cannot play basketball anymore.

For the love of all that is holy, wonderful and right in the world, please let this be the last photo I take of your nose being jacked-up.

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If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Do it for your kids. Do it for our savings account.

No more basketball.

I know the doctors will be sad to see you (and the new cars they buy at your expense) go, but everyone else will thank you. (OK, maybe not your teammates, but still.)

Love,
Your long-suffering, professional doctor-meeting, waiting-room-sitting, cafeteria-food-eating wife

photo

Dear Vacation:

I’m going to miss you. We had such a great time together last week. How will I live without you?

I can’t wait to see you again. Next time, though, I need some rules for my behavior.

I must not:

  • Think about work
  • Worry about work
  • Bring my computer to do work
  • Actually work

I also must not:

  • Stay at the beach then bemoan sand everywhere. (Everywhere!)
  • Try to keep the boys from climbing every rock formation and tree.
  • Go for a walk on the beach in regular clothes and expect not to get attacked by a wave.
  • Bring a curling iron to do my hair. (Really, now, what was I thinking?)
  • Eat my body weight in tostones every day.

Hope to see you soon!

Love,
Beth

Happy Fourth!

reminds-fortunate-live-country-independence-day-ecard-someecards

Dear Those of You Who Believe the World Revolves Around You:

You’re so vain, you probably think this post is about you. OK, it is.

Break out of your “me” zone and take this advice when you travel:

1. If you are standing in line and your nose touches my shoulder, you are standing too close to me. Back the eff up!

2. If it is clear that people in front of you are part of a family traveling together, please do not insert yourself into the group because you are anxious to get on the plane. Please wait just a hot second. I assure you that you will be able to get on the plane before it leaves.

3. Do not leap into the airplane aisles as soon as you hear that special ding. Again, just wait. You will get off the plane, I promise. Your decision to wait can save others from getting their feet stomped on and experiencing a face full of butt.

4. Learn the rules of walking. I can help with that. Read this.

5. Stand back from the baggage carousel. When you see your bag, you can move forward and claim it. If you huddle around the carousel, you impede egress and cause a jam. You also are likely to get whacked with a bag. (A consequence you would richly deserve.)

Let’s work together to make the world a better place.

Thank you for your attention in this matter,
Beth

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NYC-Sidewalk-1

Dear People of the World:

Some of you clearly are not aware that there are rules for walking in public — especially when the area is crowded. Please let me help you help everyone:

1. Standard procedure is to walk on the right, pass on the left. (Hey, it’s like driving! Yes.)

2. If you are walking with someone else, try not to take up the entire path. If you are walking with many someones, DO NOT walk side by side. Walk two and two if you must, just like animals headed into the ark.

3. As Joe told Cody repeatedly on “Dual Survival,” “Move with a purpose!” Please do not amble aimlessly. (My friends Heidi and John call violators of this rule “Meanderthals.”)

4. Do not stop suddenly to take a selfie (or any picture, really).

5. If you whack someone with your big-assed bag, common courtesy dictates that you should issue an apology (even if it is just “Sorry!” tossed over your shoulder as you blow past).

6. If you need to have a conversation, move to the side and out of the way. Do not have this conversation in the middle of the path, thus blocking passage for others.

I know the world is a fascinating place. You should indeed stop to smell the roses. Just make sure you aren’t in the middle of a sidewalk when you do it.

Thanks for your attention,
Beth

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What recently greeted me in a bathroom stall

Dear Ladies Using Public Restrooms:

I know you are busy. We are all busy. Still, I need you to add 24 seconds to your bathroom routine. After you do No. 1 or No. 2, you must follow these simple steps (especially if you do No. 2):

  1. Look at the toilet. Did you sprinkle when you tinkled? Yes? Wipe the damn seat.
    Time to completion: two seconds.
  2. Look into the toilet. Is everything that came from you and/or the toilet paper roll gone? No? Flush again.
    Time to completion: two seconds.
  3. Wash your hands. With soap!
    Time to completion: The CDC recommends 20 seconds.
  4. Optional step: Dry your hands.
    Time to completion: five seconds.

Just 24 seconds of your time (29 if you dry) can mean the difference between a positive bathroom experience and someone (me) muttering “Seriously?!” as she
heads to the next stall or commences toilet triage if other stalls are full.

Thank you for flushing it forward,
Beth