My Cousin Nick, Working at The Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota
I park on the side of a very busy street, competition is fierce and the stakes are high. This is the healthcare industry, nobody likes to walk any longer than it takes to chug a mountain dew and smoke a cigarette.
Last week I returned to my car after a particularly stressful day to find my poor Suburban missing a sideview mirror, and wearing a new crack in her once pristine windshield. I was unhappy, like Rosie O'Donnell looking for a Krispy Creme UNHAPPY. What could I do!? Sure, profanity was an option, but I had no target.
You'd be suprised how jaded one week of having to swivel ones head around before switching lanes can make a person. I had just about given up the dream of having a decent parking spot and a car that didn't look like something I'd imported from Lebanon. I started to hold the general driving public in the same regard that General Custer held the Indian nations - A bunch of Savages.
All obscure and overly dramatic references aside, this is the good part. I was walking to my car yesterday when I noticed a white envelope inside of a plastic bag placed under my windshield wiper. After I microwaved it to kill the anthrax, I opened it. Inside was a simple message. I've included a picture, because all good stories have pictures.....