Dear Fellow Tenants of the Brewery Building:

1. The Grizzled Man Who Owns the Saddle Store on the First Floor and Bathes in Stetson in the Elevator - Please stop taking "Puerto Rican baths" in the elevator. Your cheap cologne burns my nostrils and the fact that you work around leather means that the combination of your Stetson and your tanned cow hide scents makes you smell like the inside of a hobo's coffin. Also, you only ever ride the elevator to the second floor. That means that you can't bring yourself to walk up one flight of steps. Is that really the Cowboy way? And I don't mean "Cowboys Way" as in the football team because we all know that their way is to find an easy out.

2. The Morbidly Obese Woman Who Has No Less Than Three Sacks of McDonald's in Her Hand Every Time She Gets on the Elevator - Now, I will assume that you are the one that goes and grabs lunch for everyone in the office. That being said, why do you have to mouth breathe so hard every time we ride the elevator together? I feel like I am riding inside your own personal iron lung. Also, yes the elevator at work gets stuck sometimes. But that doesn't mean that every time you board it you get to make a joke about hoping "this thing don't get stuck" but then reassuring me that you "got enough Mickey D's to make it until they unstuck it."

3. The Elderly Man Who Appears to Smoke for a Living - Please keep smoking. The only time I have ever heard you speak, you mumbled the words "pussywillows and weirdos" in the most terrifying voice I have ever heard spring forth from a human. So, you know, keep on keepin' on.

4. THE WOMAN WHO TALKS ON HER CELL PHONE IN THE BATHROOM (AS IN WHILE SHE'S IN THE STALL) - I've had to refrain from confronting you many times. You need to realize where and when to make personal calls. I know about your son's girlfriend's period being late. I know about your mother not taking the right kind of osteoporosis medicine. I know about the antiques you think you deserve from your soon-to-be ex-husband. I know about the fact that you don't like the way your pantyhose make your legs look. I don't need to know any of this. Yet, you don't stop. You apparently only feel comfortable making the most personal of phone calls when you are inside a stall in your office building's bathroom. You are actually a running joke amongst the female workers on this floor. We have been following the progress of your nasty divorce via your loud phone calls. Please get a different job in a building very far away from my office building. You are talking into a bluetooth while you are on the toilet. That's fucking gross. Please go away forever.