dear champagne colored sedan

Dear Champagne-Colored Sedan Across the Street,

While I am not the type to compose open letters to entities that are unable or unlikely to respond, I feel that your activities in the early morning of January 2nd must be addressed formally. This would be the early morning of one of my few frivolous days off.

To refresh your memory, the events to which I am referring began at precisely 4:00AM. The noise that you emitted at that hour took the form of a high pitched wail, unbroken, unrelenting, and utterly different from the standard car alarm noises that I can sleep through. We shall hereafter refer to it as The Noise. The Noise shook me from an already hard-won slumber.

I initially mistook The Noise for my alarm clock, because if you were to draw a line from my left ear to your location on the street, the line would pass right through my alarm. After mashing every dial and button on my clock (including “Adjust Brightness”) and futilely trying to muffle it under my comforter, I eventually ripped it from the wall. The Noise lived.

At this point you had been sounding your torturous note for a continuous half hour. I ruled out fire alarm, carbon monoxide detector, haywire air conditioner, and unreliable microwave. My house guest, equally perturbed by the alien wail, determined that it was a malfunctioning car horn, located somewhere within your champagne-colored hood. We longed for a sledgehammer.

We debated calling the police. Is this the sort of thing that one bothers a uniformed officer about? Apparently it is, because one arrived midway through our conversation. He was easy to see from my bedroom window, as you are located so very, very close to my building. After gazing at you as if you were a wounded puppy, gently petting your hood at one point, he returned to his vehicle, no doubt thinking, “I can’t believe I’m up at 4:30 in the morning babysitting a broken car.”

A tow truck arrived in short order. I’m sure you thought that, being parallel-parked, there was no stopping you. Humans, however, are marvels of ingenuity, and I got a distinct sense of pleasure out of watching this man attach a chain to your front bumper, roll his truck backwards, and thus un-parallel-park you. You were dislodged from the parallel position like an uncooperative baby tooth. This fixed whatever was wrong with you and The Noise ceased at 5:00AM. It was too late for apologies, however, and you were promptly towed away, never to be seen or heard from again.

I believe I speak for all the residents of my block when I say I hope they crush you into a cube and hand you back to your owner in the same boxes they use for Chinese take-out.

Jonathan Dobres