Call me paranoid. Just don't call me an ambulance. I'm reaching out to you, driver of that Grand Cherokee that seems to have my number.

Dear driver of that Jeep Grand Cherokee who seems to want me, at the very least, incapacitated-

I'm not quite sure what I may have done to warrant you wanting to smash into my car while I'm behind the wheel, but here we are.

Maybe you recall last week - the week of the 4th of July- I was exiting our station's parking lot- on the east side. I looked left, I looked right. All clear. I proceeded to my left (north) onto 6th Street when you came blazing out of the alley across the street to make your own left onto 6th! A blur is all I recall- SO close, I think I peed a little.

I looked out my rearview, as you were tuning quickly onto Main. 'Black. Four-door Jeep,' I said to myself. 'Slow down, man!' I yelled to no one.

Then, today (July 9) as I was coming back from lunch, I'm pulling INTO said parking lot. Here you come at me, going WAY too fast for our small lot. I dodge your latest attempt at collision and grab a spot. What the what? As I park, I look and see that you'd been using our lot as a short cut to get to that alley!

Enough is enough. Let's take it down a notch and meet. A beer summit. Hash it out. I think we can come to terms. Neither of us wants trouble, right?

Frightened, but not injured,

Dave Jensen

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