Dear Young Men Who Utilize the Uptown A&D Trains in NYC,
Hi boys. How are you doing? Hope this letter finds you well. And I really mean that, because even though you’re making me want to maybe throw some fists and go into a crazy-lady rage oft left in books of lore, I really don’t wish harm on you—mostly because I can’t fight for shit. Why do I say all that? Well, let’s elaborate, shall we? Some of your lot are a bunch of fucking assholes. Well, maybe childish, immature, pathetic little boys who seek to make themselves feel better by putting others down. Maybe that works a bit better for you, yeah? Seems a bit more apt. And since it’s now happened more than three times, you guys have to own this one; some of you guys are really huge pricks.
So let’s talk. Let’s get some real talk up in here right now. Today was the 4th time (that I can recall) in the past two years that I have been harassed by members of your community. Some background information: I’m fat. Yep, I am! I KNOW; ISN’T IT CRAZY THAT I KNOW THIS ABOUT MYSELF? I’m sure you find it hard to believe I can even bring myself to look in the mirror or at the clothes that I wear to know this. Unfortunately for you, this isn’t a fact that’s been lost on me (even though apparently some people seem to think I have no idea). I am also aware that I may not be visually appealing to the whole of the world (this isn’t something I am really all that surprised about, either. I mean, for fuck’s sake some people don’t even find Angelina Jolie attractive, so I’m obviously going to have some dissenters if even perfectly gorgeous women have people that call them unattractive). But listen, I get it. I AM IN ON THE JOKE; I am not so perfectly unaware that I don’t know these things about myself.
But I am guessing that you don’t know one thing about yourself: that you are terribly insecure and bored. You must be so bored that your only means of entertainment is watching other people’s awkward discomfort around you because of what you assert, that I’m honestly a little bit concerned for your mental well-being. Like, what is wrong with you? Do you think that because you’re so out-of-touch with yourself that everyone else must be made aware of their obvious attributes?
For real, though, your opinion of me makes no difference to my day; I’m sorry to tell you I’m not going to go home and cry while I vomit up my lunch & look into mirror to remind myself how hideously unattractive I am to a bunch of 20-year old jackasses, and that I must change myself for them. I wasn’t going to sign up for a stupid-expensive New York Sports Club membership, but, you know, now I think maybe I have to, immediately. And I guess I better invest in some plastic surgery to become aesthetically pleasing to you, random strange man. So when I get on the subway and you feel the need to remind me that I “look like [I] must be pregnant with an ugly baby” or “so fat that a [word I REFUSE to use] wouldn’t even hit it,” I’m going to have to ask you to please hold your breath, because shit ain’t necessary. As much as you think you’re hilarious with your observational remarks, you’re sort of missing the mark.
I’m so glad you random, strange men of upper Manhattan have enough sense to let me know that I am fat & considerably ugly to some of you. This sort of knowledge of myself is so helpful. I am so glad you all are around so that I don’t go another day without knowing how much of a burden my looks & weight are on the visual well-being of New Yorkers everywhere.