Dear unnamed bike shop worker—Thanks for "fixing" my bike when I brought it in to see what was going wrong. I know it's not the best bike—it's had too many broken axles to really be the safest bet—but you really didn't notice that the derailleur wasn't snapping back when you put my new wheel on? Sure, I didn't notice either, until after I pulled its wreckage out of the back of my friend's car. But I guess I had a little more faith in your holier-than-thou, bike shop mecca attitude. So, thanks for not retightening my brakes after cramming my wheels back in place. Thanks for not catching my derailleur's clear failure. Thanks for the bruises, the puncture wound, the road rash, and the broken toe. Thanks for the shock and the firemen, the police, the paramedics, and the street sweeper who was kind enough to call them. I'm glad I wasn't going down a hill instead of up one, and you should be too, because if I were dead you'd have one hell of a lawsuit, and I would probably also be haunting your stupid ass.—Anonymous