Hey Playa! Letter to the douchebag at Lowe’s. [after being inspired by Junot Diaz’s This is How You Lose Her]


[I love Junot Diaz’s fiction. I got totally wrapped up in Drown back in 1996 because I was mesmerized by the raw characters. I read The Brief Life of Oscar Wao and loved it. And I just finished This is How you Lose Her. Wow – can he write! I love his prose – but I HATE some of the despicable male characters he presents. And it inspired me to write to the last real life character who reminded me of Diaz’s douchebag manipulators.]

May 29, 2013

Dear Douchebag who works at Lowe’s,

I’m pretty sure you don’t remember me; after all, I was only a momentary blip on your radar. So let me remind you: I was the woman wearing the Coach jacket – as in the role of coach, not the brand – and you were the employee at Lowes sent to help me find a door stop. When you passed me the package your hand brushed mine. I assumed it was accidental and thanked you for your help. As I walked away, you called after me, asking if I played my sport, as well as coached it. I smiled and said yes and we conversed about it because you said you used to play and were interested in joining a club. You knew so much about it in fact, I thought you had to be sincere, so when you asked me for my number to get information about where I played, I gave it to you willingly. Should have known better.

Within 20 minutes of leaving the store, you texted me and asked me out. At which point I realized 2 things:

1. I am clueless when it comes to flirtation.

3. I am in NO WAY attracted to a man who doesn’t have the balls to ask me out in person.

So, I wasn’t coy. I was direct. I texted flat out: “While I am totally flattered, I have absolutely no interest in going out with you.” But that didn’t stop you – you worked 3 different angles until you finally blamed me for making you think I wanted you to ask me out. I never did respond. When my phone finally went silent I was happy. Until one night nearly a week later, I got a random text just before midnight, asking me who I was.  Followed by another one asking if I was the girl who drove a Volkswagen. Clearly, you couldn’t keep your women straight. I finally realized it was you when I searched my history and found your previous texts. And when I responded to tell you who I was so you would stop bothering me, you had the audacity to think that I was asking you to chat.

What is wrong with you?  You give guys a bad name. Not like it matters, because even if you ever read this, you’ll think it’s my problem. And maybe that’s why I love reading so much. If I meet a douchebag, I can just shut the book.

Piss off,



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Filed under Books, Letters, Short Stories

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