Last week Amelia and I were walking down Bleecker street, minding our own business when a cranky blonde girl, top knot bouncing above her head, came charging straight for us with the ferocity of a hyena stampeding toward Mufasa. She could have moved just one foot to the right, but no — for whatever reason, maybe her knot was too tight, she marched directly into Amelia then loudly exclaimed, “MOVE, BITCH!”
Utterly shocked, we froze in this fight or flight situation. In hindsight, I wish I had shouted profanities. I wish I’d created a barricade with my body so she couldn’t pass through, or perhaps gifted her a knuckle sandwich. Amelia regrets not barking at her, and Leandra said she would have one-upped Knotty’s “Move Bitch” by responding a la Ludacris with, “Get out the way!” There are plenty of alternatives to how this situation could have gone down, and we still regret the missed opportunities.
Luckily, The New Yorker imagined a tool that could alleviate this boiling anger that plagues those of us who have unfinished business with insufferable characters: Missed Connections for Assholes. When I think about Craigslist Missed Connections, I think of an online space reserved for unrequited love to flourish. A typical entry may read: “Dude with a man bun on the M train this AM who was also reading Nabokov — We smiled at each other. You were missing a front tooth but in a hip way <3.”
However, in the new and improved version of Missed Connections you can seek out assholes like this girl:
“We made small talk in the checkout line at Trader Joe’s. You said that you literally could not live without the salsa you were buying. I wish we could talk again. You used “literally” incorrectly. It really pissed me off. I wish you could literally not live without that salsa, because then I’d take it from you.”
I would maybe post something like the following:
To the person with the complicated drink order when I was just trying to buy this granola bar and not starve to death, you almost made me starve to death. When I do die, I will haunt you. Forever.
Who do you have unfinished business with? What would you write? This is therapy, let it out in the comments.