I may be developing some misanthropic tendencies. Outside the window of my workplace there is a giant Ottawa sign, only it’s missing a “T”. OT_AWA. If you stand between the T and A you can extend your arms and become the missing T. I was against it immediately and time and repetition have only hardened my heart. It’s like I’m being waterboarded by a lazy sight gag. I spend my day glaring out the window, wishing sunburns and sandal blisters at this ceaseless caravan of Letter People.
I now understand the disdain Philadelphians have for yokels that jog triumphantly up those steps. Except, they are at least recreating an iconic movie moment, not pantomiming the answer to a slow pitch cryptogram and then strutting around like they cracked the Enigma Machine. And then somehow I am the villain for yelling “Match the font or go back to Antwerp!” at an old man who refused to raise his arms above mid chest. I don’t care what his cardiologist said, if you don’t have the blood pressure for Times New Roman you don’t belong in the game.
On Saturday I saw a man spend twenty minutes arranging his wife and three depressed children into multiple T configurations as he shot the scene from different angles. While I appreciate his commitment to proper staging the only people who will ever view those photos are his wife’s divorce attorney and the lover that she goes on better vacations with. I need to find a new window until this blows over.
 He was here for the Tulip festival so I made some assumptions.