[Ed. note: I wrote this in August but didn't post it because I thought it might be offensive. However, when the Chron used the term "douche bag" in an article, I figured it was OK for me to use it.]

[START RANT]

Dear Douchebag, er, Dispatcher,

What kind of a freakin' idiot do you think I am? Do you think I'm so stupid that I don't know a) where I live and b) how to get there? I've lived in my loft for more than two years and never got lost going home, not once, not even when I was in a drunken stupor (which I most decidedly was not when I called).

Yes, Mr. I've-only-been-doing-this-for-more-than-25-years, there is a two-way section of Gilbert Street that you can access by turning directly off of Brannan and I happen to live on it. Since you didn't know this and chose to be a raving schmuck about it instead of acknowledging that I might actually be familiar with the block on which I live, I'll conclude that your knowledge of the City's streets is and will remain less encyclopedic than you think. If you pulled your head out of your posterior, you might actually learn a few things, assuming that your IQ is above room temperature, an assumption that is dubious at best. The only thing that impresses me about your two-and-a-half decades of experience is that it takes real effort to be an ingnorant cornhole for that long.

For the past year or so, Arrow has been my go-to cab company. No more. And I'm going to tell eveyone I can to avoid Arrow like the plague.

You'd better freakin' believe I'm sincere,
Grumpy

[END RANT]