Dear The Waitresses

I sincerely hope that you will accept this 'tip', my pop restaurant staff friends, as one has considerable misgivings pertaining to that guy you've been chasing all year, and fear that this tale may not have a very happy ending.


Your first, ski shop, encounter, was I must concur, most interesting in that most Alpine resorts are, if you will pardon the oxymoron, a hotbed of isolation, and the ideal lure for foul play.


From your second liaison, whereupon scheduling conflicts arose preventing you both from going for lunch, it could be regretably deduced that your enigmatic potential paramour engineered said rendezvous hindrance, perhaps repelled by the prospect of dining in a non-sequestered built up dining environment non-conducive to nefarious activity.


That the third coupling, that of excursioning to a desolate shoreline to the arguably sinister young man’s sea vessel, was curtailed by your neglection of tanning oil administration could be construed as a lucky escape.


One is then unnerved at the increasingly shady fellow’s ‘no show’ at a Halloween party - once again a backdrop of hub bub - citing a vehicular breakdown as an excuse for non-attendance. One finds it difficult to fathom how a person whose finances can stretch to a luxurious beach boat (see above - if indeed the craft is not merely a non-existent decoy to tempt a vulnerable innocent to an abandoned coastline) does not have access to a back-up transport or sufficient funds for a cab fare.

Your home town of Ohio is sadly notorious for charismatic loners preying on menial workers, The Waitresses, and I must beseech you not to under any circumstances leave the all night Grocery with this potential maniac.

I know what girls want, and is not certainly not attention of this nature which may well result in your being bundled up too tight.

Yours

 

Derek Philpott

 

 


Ohio State Reformatory
100 Reformatory Rd.
Mansfield, OH 44905

RE: Inmate # 873367-9 Mail
[CENSORSHIP STATUS: Passed, with changes as NOTED]

Dear Mr. Philpott,

My name is XXX XXXXXXX. Mr. Butler forwarded your letter to me, since what you have written directly concerns me, and my current situation. My apologies for the slow response, but all outgoing mail from here needs to clear a staff review. I hope it has reached you in time for your deadline.

Typing is difficult, since my hands are shaking at the moment, so excuse any typos. Your letter reads like a carbon copy of the case which was brought against me by the State of Ohio in1986, and the subsequent, maliciously unfair indictment that put me in prison, and has kept me here for decades.

I first met Mr. Butler in the early summer of 1981, at a restaurant in Kent, OH, called Jerry’s Diner. His band had just played a triumphant homecoming show at a local club, and Jerry’s was the only place open in town after the bars closed. Although a “rock star”, he was quite approachable, and we discussed many subjects over many cups of coffee. As men often do, we compared notes about the status of our romantic relationships, and it was here with this topic of conversation, that all my troubles began. I told him I was currently unattached, but not for lack of trying, and that there had been one very attractive woman in particular I had tried to connect with over the passed year or so, but to no avail. It was a story of missed connections, ironic misunderstandings, and just plain bad luck. Quite humorous, actually, and it seemed to make an impression on him, as he took a few notes on a paper napkin. We parted as friends, it had been an entertaining late night exchange, and I assumed I would never see him again.

So imagine my surprise when in late autumn, I heard a new Christmas song on the radio that pretty much recounted the very story I had related to him, with a few additions and twists that could be attributed to his taking artistic license with the narrative. I very much enjoyed the song – I am no writer or musician, but I can appreciate a well-crafted piece of work. And I was flattered that my little tale of unrequited love had inspired Mr. Butler to create what has become a seasonal standard.

A nice life anecdote, and I thought no more about it until five years later when the song was targeted by Tipper Gore and her Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC). As you may recall, the PMRC was started to control references to sex, violence, and drug/alcohol abuse in popular music, and “Christmas Wrapping” became part of this witch hunt, since the lyric could be interpreted as a stalker’s yearlong pursuit of an unsuspecting victim. Local authorities over-reacted to this, and when Mr. Butler - in a published interview - recounted our having met, and how I had given him the idea for the song’s plot, I found myself (falsely) charged with harassment, tried and (falsely) convicted, and sentenced to long prison term.

Let me categorically state now, and as I have maintained all along, that I am entirely innocent of this allegation, and that my conviction and subsequent incarceration was and is a gross miscarriage of justice. Even the woman in question, one Ms XXXX XXX, testified in my defense that at no time did she feel threatened or in danger. However, it was the tenor of the times that The Courts were overly sensitive to charges of this nature, so I was made an example of, and I soon found myself behind bars.

At this point, I could shorten this letter by simply referring you to the Court records of my trial, but under Ohio law, these records are sealed in cases of this nature in order to protect the supposed victims. Therefore, please allow me to respond to each point in your letter, quoting from my defense:

In regards to the ski shop incident:

Skiing in Ohio has always been a bit of a challenge since, basically, the state is flat. We do have a few resort areas that try very

 

To read the rest of this spectacular reply please support now!! Out 2017

 

unbound.com/books/dear-mr-pop-star

 

©2009-2014 Dawson-Rice | Website designed with the splendid help of Oast One.