DC Confidential

Back in the day, Ann Landers used to occasionally put a “confidential” message at the end of her column. I assume that these were messages to people who didn’t want their letters published. The messages were usually cryptic and read something like:

Confidential to Skokie, IL:

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

I’ve decided to take a stab at my own version of this feature. These messages are directed to people who haven’t asked for my advice, but who are sorely in need of it. Also, my messages will be far less cryptic than Ann’s.

Confidential to woman walking in front of me on 13^th St, 10/11, 6:15 p.m.:

If you must wear white after Labor Day (and I’m really begging you not to), for the love of God, please buy a thong in an appropriate color. Hint: white or beige would work. Hot pink or black is a no no. Maybe you want to show off your thong, but trust me, this is just not appropriate in the workplace.

Confidential to the angry blonde on the elevator in my building this morning:

Banging hard on the “Lobby” button six times in a row isn’t going to make the elevator move any faster. In fact, if the elevator is anything like me, it will probably go even slower, just to spite you.

Confidential to the douchebag driver at the intersection of 13^th and I Streets the other morning:

You may think you are not a complete douchebag because you didn’t honk at the elderly man on a walker who was crossing the street at a snail’s pace, but inching your car closer and closer to him in an attempt to make him move faster is just as bad. He couldn’t move any faster than he already was and you just freaked him out. There’s a special place in hell for you. Or, to put it another way, here’s hoping karma comes around and bites you in the ass big time.