We were driving through this parking lot on the way to get a Happy Meal, because despite only seeing me twice a month, goddamn apple slices and chicken nuggets are all that makes him happy. Seriously, he’s an asshole. Suddenly, he drops his iPad, and screams like hell. I was caught off guard and my cigarette slipped out of my hand. Of course, my wife doesn’t like me smoking around him, but what does she want from me? The window was open, I think. 

So the cigarette is sitting on my lap now, burning, and I panicked, which caused the car to swerve. My son screamed again at that point, and I looked back over my shoulder at him. This all happened very fast bang bang bang, and I took my eyes off the road. That’s when I accidentally clipped a shopping cart, and unfortunately, it hit your car. 

I see you have kids yourself from the sticker on your window, so I’m sure you understand. I stopped the car, and somehow found the cigarette, but he’s going crazy. I’m going to tell mommy, he’s yelling, and I’m yelling no you are not. No you are not! He grabs my phone from the seat and starts dialing her, so I try to take it back from him. He unclips from his car seat and escapes out the back door. He’s running through cars in the parking lot, like a fucking cocker spaniel, and I’m chasing him.

But I’d left the car in drive. I turn around and see it rolling back towards the same shopping cart, which it once again struck. That’s how your car got hit a second time. 

So I get back to the car and put it in park, but my phone is still missing. My kid too. I start yelling his name. Taylor! Taylor! (Don’t blame me for the name, my ex-wife found it in some book–as if adults need a book to think up names. We hear different names every fucking day. Just pick one!)

Yeah dad, Taylor screams back. Where the fuck are you? I yell. I’m over here, he yells back. So I follow his voice and he’s just sitting on the ground between two cars with my phone, playing a game on it. It’s some game where a guy is shooting at balloons. Let’s go buddy. In a minute dad. I say so help me god if you don’t stand up right now I’m going to pop YOU like a balloon. So then he just yells pop!

Pop! Let’s go son. Pop! Son. Pop pop pop. He won’t stop saying it as I drag him back to the car. On the way, some lady smiles at him and he says Dad is going to pop me. I don’t even look back. But Taylor tells me she’s taking a picture of us, so I return to the lady and explain the situation. She tells me that I shouldn’t threaten my son. Unbelievable. So I threaten her. But in a nice way. Not to harm her, but yeah, to harm her. She runs off. Taylor starts repeating me again. Back off bitch. Back off bitch. Taylor stop. Bitch.

We get back to the car and people are crowding around and I say of course I’m going to leave my name and address, what kind of person do you think I am? But honestly, most of them are gone now, so I thought instead I would try to appeal to you, as a fellow parent and human, on this great planet we call Shitville, where it always rains and OJ is up to nearly ten dollars a bottle. 

I’m very sorry for the accident, but instead of money I suggest you put this in your scrapbook so that you’ll have proof that God is dead and man is alone. If that’s not good enough, call my ex-wife. She can be reached in Hell.

Yours Truly,

America