Dear Captain Obvious: I found a way to get back at my father-in-law for trying to fire me over potentially leaking confidential company information to my wife after she deflected to work for a competitor. I vowed I could be trusted and being the hypocrite that I am, turned around the following week and handed over private employee records to an old colleague of mine to help his investigation. In a bonus act of lunacy I called the ex-employee using my real name so that my friend could trace the call and figure out her location. I never stopped to think that afterwards it could come back to bite me in the ass. As a matter of fact I rarely think at all! What was I saying again? Huh.
Dear Huh: Nicely done! Please don’t write to me again.
Dear Captain Obvious: There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to come right out with it: I’m pathetic. I used to be an in-demand private investigator with my own office and secretary (Lynne, where are you?). I had a hot wife (shout out to Isabella, inmate #5558749) and a great apartment. Most recently I started dating a cop on the force and I thought things were going great until I made sweet love to her on Valentine’s Day and she never called me again. I would bury myself in work, but no one has hired me in months (probably because I never solve any cases) so, I’ve resolved to pass the time doing pro-bono work for my ex-wives and/ex-lovers. I get by on my dad’s pension and eat spareribs and sauerkraut at my mother’s three nights a week when I can’t afford to eat at the Genoa City Athletic Club. I’m working on a case right now that involves digging around in my ex-lover’s new husband’s past. She mentioned something to me a couple weeks ago about not trusting him and then ran off and eloped. She seems content but I can’t resist the urge to meddle in her life. She’ll thank me later, right? Privately Ignorant.
Dear P.I.: Careful. Busybodies rarely get the thanks they deserve, and in your case she might think you have an acts to grind because your life is hopelessly empty and utterly meaningless. For all you know she has an affinity for losers. After all, she slept with you didn’t she?
Dear Captain Obvious: I’ve worked at some really crappy hotels in my time—I’m talking no-tell motels, if you know what I mean. Since I’ve been here I’ve noticed that some maids are pretty lax while going about their duties. I’ve seen people walk up to unattended maid carts and steal guest room keys. Last week, this guy outright bribed a maid to let him into someone’s room he claimed was his wife—which was funny because all he had to do was wait around long enough and she would eventually leave her door ajar so that anyone walking by could be privy as to what was going on inside. I’m a law-abiding citizen, honest as the day is long and I would be remiss in not reporting this to upper management. Should I alert someone as to what’s going on? Snitch.
Dear Snitch: If this is the same hotel that let the murder of a high-profile business man and a 3-alarm fire go unsolved I doubt the safety of their guests is uppermost in their minds. Therefore, I suggest you climb down from the precarious seat of your high horse and live with the inferiority of the service you are expected to provide.
Dear Captain Obvious: After suffering a minor professional setback in my career as an aspiring supermodel I was fortunate to get a call from a modeling agency in New York who may want to represent me. I’m still enrolled in college but have neglected to crack open a textbook since taking up this new job. All my life I’ve been told by my parents to get an education, but I would love to forfeit that to be a human clothes hanger. What’s a good argument that I can use to tell my dad I’m not going back to school or should I just hope that he doesn’t notice? Too kewl for skewl.
Dear Kewl: Are you kidding me?! Book a flight on the next plane out. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the chance to pursue a dream, and for this town to be rid of one less dummy. When the world of high fashion chews you up and spits you out you can always get your “learn on” by enrolling in GCU’s fast track Bachelor-degree-four-weeks-or-less program. Now go out there and be somebody!
Dear Captain Obvious: What a glorious morning it was to wake up and find my boyfriend had arranged an at home shopping experience of exquisite couture hot off the racks from Fenmore’s! Even though I wanted everything I played it coy and insisted my humility would not allow me to be pulled under by the tide of riches washing over me—so I told him I would pick only one item—a Hermes Birkin bag that cost about $7K. Smart move, right?
Dear Smart: A bag for $7,000! You’re right, that is impressive. No doubt it will come in handy when your relationship is over and you need something to pack your belongings in.
Dear Captain Obvious: What’s an up and coming powerhouse executive supposed to do around here to get a goddam memo? I told Yes-man Winters to have it on my desk by the end of the day and instead my pappy dropped-kicked my ass into next Tuesday all because I made a bad business deal that could cost the company millions. Later, when I bumped into Yes-man he’s grinning with all his 32’s—no doubt gloating over my fall from grace. Good for you, buddy but I’m still waiting on my memo. Harvard Man.
Dear Harvard: I got your memo right here: Get over yourself, you pusillanimous pile of pig poo.
Dear Captain Obvious: My new wife refuses to open a joint bank account with me so that I can bilk her out of her millions to fund my gambling addiction. How do I call her on her selfishness without letting on that I’m a conniving bastard that deserves to be strung up by his gonads? Newly Fed Up.
Dear Newly Fed Up: Your wife must be one of the many wealthy elite that don’t check their bank statements or else how do you propose to spend her money without her noticing, Einstein?
Dear Captain Obvious: Just when everything in my life is starting to go right for a change my boyfriend tells me his dad wants him to go on tour this summer, which basically means there’ll be no one to help me keep my obnoxious personality in check this summer. I also suffered a huge letdown after a magazine ad for my crack-whore chic clothing line went unnoticed by the fashion community. I’m sick of not mattering. Miserable.
Dear Miserable: Have you ever heard the saying, ‘you’re nobody till somebody kills you”? Well, here’s hoping.
Originally published: May-23-2008
