An Open Letter to the People Of New York City

Dear People of New York City (and perhaps the country at large):

First of all, to get it out of the way, yes, yes, NEW YORK CITY, get a rope, etc. We've all seen that commercial.

Second of all, I want you to know that I am not a bad man. I do not mean any ill will to any individual or the public at large. I do, however, want to clear the air as to what exactly happened and why I have done what I have done.

Let's begin at the beginning, shall we? I have always had an interest in why people do what they do. The idea that formative experiences can affect us and our daily routines and decisions intrigues me and has drawn me towards psychology. Unfortunately, at university, there were not many opportunities to really cultivate that interest. We didn't have a lot of people who worked in the hot button fields like addiction, and I felt that other areas of psychology would be better served by my talents. And, to be sure, I was never the greatest student of the bunch. I did need a few more tries to learn some of the more difficult concepts, and that's probably why I ended up where I did.

As for what I do, well, that is a complicated question. When I interviewed for my job, fresh-faced and looking to make a difference, I had thought, hey, this will be for a few years, and then I'll find something new. There's no shame in being corporate for a little while to ensure that you have the means to do the work that really excites you. I had always wanted to work with the underprivileged. I know that this is basically purely paternalistic colonialism talking, but I felt that I could really show people a better way and get them out of their current situation. I thought I could help them reach a better life. Well, we all have dreams, especially when we're young. I had just married a beautiful young woman. Yes, her family was a bit... well, eccentric is a nice way of putting it, but let's be blunt- there wasn't much of a family to begin with, and her brother was never particularly ambitious. Still, I loved her. But I digress and have taken to rambling. For that, I apologize.

I had been hired to assess the competence of new hires for a retail chain. It was never meant to be anything too detailed. I was just supposed to interview new hires to make sure that they understood what was expected of them and that they were aware of and could perform their duties. And, for years, for longer than I expected, I did only this. My wife stayed at home, and her brother would often stay with us. Since he was the only real family she had, I felt that I should make some effort to provide for him, and the money was good. I stayed in the job and sacrificed my dreams. Only for the moment, you understand. All of this was temporary. But, still, the stress began to get to me. I was biting my nails, compulsively plucking my eyebrows, you know, nervous habits like that.

And so, slowly, to add a bit of flair to the job and to try to help some of the new hires, I would ask them other questions. How were they feeling, was everything okay, how was their home life, was anything worrying them. I wanted to make sure they were okay. I wanted to help them, to, in some small way, follow my dreams. And, in my way, I did. There was a young man, a janitor. He was a nice young man, and he meant well. He helped at a local boys' club and would give out toys during the holidays. At the same time, he was 17. Surely he had other friends, family, somebody to spend the holidays with? His altruism, noble though it was, fascinated me. I wanted to understand why, so I would take time out of my day to talk to him after lunch. I think we were really making some progress.

Then, all of a sudden, I was asked to perform a psychological evaluation of a new hire. I mean, I wasn't entirely trained for this, but it was still a great opportunity. I had the chance to show everyone what I could do, what I could be. I was understandably a bit nervous. And, you know, aside from a few missteps (e.g., claiming that John Quincy Adams' vice president was Daniel D. Tompkins instead of John Calhoun. Tompkins was Monroe's vice president, but that's rather obscure history and is, in my semi-professional opinion, an easy mistake to make), he was answering all of the questions pretty well. The problem, though, was that he was too familiar with the whole process. I know that shouldn't be a huge red flag, but I feel that if somebody has had to go through multiple psychological evaluations, then that's a sign that there's something amiss. And, like I said, I was a bit nervous. Him anticipating questions and asking me about my personal life was only putting me less at ease. And, yes, I snapped a bit. That was uncalled for, but he clearly had some signs of delusional behavior. He was charming, but there was clearly something not quite right.

I said as much to my bosses. They had brought in his doctor, though, who said that everything was fine and that he wasn't dangerous. Well, that's being generous. The doctor said my entire conclusion was wrong and that this fellow was really okay. I mean, if they wanted his opinion, maybe they should have just asked him to begin with instead of making me waste my time. Maybe this fellow really was a good guy. Maybe, though, the doctor was just charmed by his cult of personality. Maybe, as I found out later, the fellow had bribed the doctor by making a gift of some expensive medical equipment. But, hey, the doctor had his say, and this guy was clearly good with children, so maybe it was all okay. I shouldn't worry about it, right?

Fast forward a few months. He comes into my office, and, following a brief discussion of the young man volunteering at the boys' club, he decides that the way to deal with me is by hitting me in the head with a cane. True, he was a rather old fellow, but it still hurt. And, yes, I took a bit of a dive. I had just been assaulted by someone who was clearly at least somewhat delusional and was now proving to be dangerous. I wasn't going to stand idly by and say that my head felt fine and let him go. I made a judgment call, and while it may not have been the most ethical in itself, I think that I was acting for the greater good. I went to his bosses, and we worked to have him committed. Well, that was what happened. We wanted him to be evaluated again, by someone who was better trained than I was and more impartial than his doctor. This time, he failed the evaluation. Case closed, right?

The head of my company had taken a shine to the lunatic. He told me that I had to make this all go away. I was assaulted, and now I was being pressured to make this all go away. Okay, fine, I figured I'd talk to the judge and just get the whole matter dropped. No harm, no foul. Well, I'm not a lawyer. I was too late and didn't realize that a hearing had to happen. I didn't want this to be too public, if only to spare everyone's feelings and reputations. It was the holidays, for pete's sake. Nobody wants to spend the holidays in court. Then everything went wrong.

See, the lunatic had hired a glory-hound attorney. He went ahead and decided to make the whole thing into a media circus. The judge, who could have thrown the whole thing out, decided to actually hear out the ridiculous case for political reasons. The head of my company was a witness and probably perjured himself and then fired me. Me! I was just trying to keep the kids safe from this maniac who assaulted me with a cane! Oh, and it gets better. The defense called the D.A.'s son to the stand and pretty much guilted him into accepting their reasoning for their client's sanity. Add in some lazy postal employees just trying to get rid of some dead letters, and suddenly the lunatic is the fucking paragon of sanity.

Pardon my language. This fiasco ruined me, and I haven't been quite the same since.

Let me ask you something. If there were a grown woman who went around in a tutu and fake wings giving children money for their teeth, you'd think that there were something wrong with her, right? If an Irish dwarf started running around with a pot of gold, that wouldn't be normal, would it? Or an archer wearing a loincloth shooting people in the heart in February? Should a jolly old man who hits people in the head with a cane and promises small children real estate be considered sane and, worse, be permitted to earn a living hanging around children? Of course not! Well, why does that all change when he says that he's Santa Claus?

I'm sorry. I know he's given you all so much joy. I just. My life is in shambles right now. My wife hates me, her layabout brother antagonizes me at every turn, I lost my job, and I can't even follow my dreams anymore. I don't want anyone else to get hurt by this monster. I just want to keep the children safe.

You haven't fooled me, you sick son of a bitch.

Sincerely,

Granville Sawyer

Formerly of the Macy's Department of Human Resources