Dear Grinch

This is not a funny letter.  This letter will most likely make you mad.

I was recently working an event I have worked for the last eight years.  A nearby residence for people with developmental disabilities has a Christmas party every year where the children and adults come to have a nice meal, dance, and sit with Santa Claus.  To a person, everyone that attends and works the event looks forward to this.  It is simply a time of pure happiness for all involved, and everyone has a great time.

Well, everyone but you.  I was called away to the lobby in the middle of the festivities because I was told that someone had a complaint and demanded to see a manager.  You did not ask to see a manager.  You demanded it.  Your appearance was certainly worthy of a man making such lofty demands of people's time.   Your dirty ball cap covered your grey, lank hair, and a stained discolored t-shirt strained around the bulge of your ample gut in order to stay tucked into your faded bluejeans. 
I introduced myself and asked how I could be of service.

"I can't park in front of my building.  I just came back from lunch and I had to park all the may in front of the next building over" you grunted at me, sweat pouring over your porcine face. 

You were renting a hotel room where this function was going on.  Your room was in a building right next to where the event was, and parking had overflowed.  Ok, I get that.  What I failed to point out to you is that if you had to park at "the next building over, that only added about 100 feet total of a walk instead of the 20 you might have had.  These are not long buildings.  I let this be.

"I'm very sorry sir," I said, "but it's a communal parking lot.  That's why we don't charge for parking."

"You do too!" he blustered.  "$140 a night!"  I tried not to sigh while explaining that is a his room charge, and most hotels charge an additional fee for parking.  This one didn't, this, free for all.

"If you won't make someone move, I'll just park behind a few cars and see how you like that" he fumed.  First, you are making an assumption that I am in charge of parking.  Wrong.  I am wearing an apron, which should be the first clue.  Next, you think I will be willing to make someone move their car for you after I just explained that you are not owed anything.  Seeing I would not do this, you quite literally stomped out of the lobby and climbed into your gigantic pickup.  Someone overheard your rant and approached me, offering to move their car for him.  I told them they could do so if they wished, but not to feel obligated.  They gladly went to accommodate your infantile idiocy.

So, I walked outside and over to your building to let you know there was a spot.  Sure enough, you have three cars blocked in with your Ford F30000TurboImpotence.  I knocked on your door and pointed to the new spot the person had opened. 

"Nope, I'm good where I am."  You closed the door.

I knocked again, seriously considering how much I liked not being in jail.  You opened with a smartass grin.

"What you failed to let me explain to you, sir, is that the party that has taken up all of the parking spots is a holiday party for people with mental and physical handicaps.  They can't park far away, because they cannot walk that far."

A normal person, a real human being, would apologize here and be civil.  This is how I know you a scum, and a dickhead that I don't wish any happiness towards. 

"Well I have a bad back and shouldn't be walking far, but I guess I'll move my car now that you did your job and got me a spot."

Your back is bad from carrying around your fat ass, beer gut, and inflated sense of self worth.  This is completely ignoring the fact that your giant truck, which caused all this mess, was so big that you have to enter it with a step, so your back can't be all that bad.  If I was half the asshole you are, I would have hit you there, and posted your name, address, and phone number here for all to see.  I could get those easily, and would love to see the hate mail you'd receive.  Instead, I smiled and thanked you.

This is the freaking holiday season.  If you can't muster up compassion, caring, or even the faintest of human emotion, you should rot.  To even slightly compare your back pain to the struggles that those people go through their entire lives makes you sickening to me, so I walked away from you, and went back to the party where people were just happy to be there, eat cookies, dance.

We're all here to see Santa, not watch you do your impression of St. Dick.