A Formal Complaint From the Roller Skating Gang Member in Michael Jackson’s “Bad” Video

A dedicated employee looks to shake up the institution.

Dear Sir:

First and foremost, allow me to once again thank you for allowing me to join your gang, in which serving has been both an honor and a pleasure. These past two years have been an absolute joy, and I consider my personal growth a testament to you and your fine organization. That having been said, I was wondering if I could make the change from roller skating everywhere we go to simply walking, like everyone else.

I assume you think I’m only making this request because the other gang members keep laughing at me and calling me “Tootie.” While there is some truth to this, let’s not risk oversimplifying the issue, as childish taunts are merely the tip of the proverbial iceberg. My main concern lies in the fact that while roller skating has quite an upside (I conduct my errands more quickly, it’s been great for my calves, etc.), it actually presents a series of detriments that I fear I may have initially overlooked. Climbing fences, jumping turnstiles and traversing subway grates are all far more difficult than need be. Furthermore, being the only roller skating gang member attracts a great deal of attention and makes me very easy to remember, two traits that are far from desirable when one participates in illicit gang activities. When a victim describes their mugger as “a grown man on roller skates,” the local authorities seem to know exactly where to begin their search. When they arrive on the scene and begin rounding up suspects, I’m either a) the only person on roller skates or b) if I’ve gotten enough of a head start, the only one wearing socks and no shoes. Either way, it’s fairly incriminating.

I understand that, if this change occurs, my nickname “Wheelz” will be rendered moot. Frankly, I’m fine with that. With all due respect, I’m not a GI Joe, and therefore have no need for a nickname that corresponds to my mode of transportation. In fact, I worry that in the near future I will be called Wheelz not because of my roller skates, but because of the wheelchair in which I’m confined as the remarkably unsurprising result of roller skating in a subway.

If required to retain my nickname (I admit my knowledge of the bylaws is a bit hazy), however, perhaps we can reach some sort of compromise by way of alternate transportation: a razor scooter, for example, or those shoes with wheels built into the heel, provided they make them in adult sizes.

In conclusion, my skates have become a part of my identity, and I will look back upon this part of my life with great fondness and appreciation. However, in a world such as ours, a world governed by constant evolution, I find my talents to be nothing more than relics of an era that never quite dawned. After much deliberation, I’ve slowly come to realize that, simply put, there’s just no room in our society for a roller skating gang member.

With kindest regards,

Wheelz

P.S. Incidentally, there’s one last thing I’ve been meaning to bring to your attention: there are rumblings throughout the community that, when it comes to settling turf wars, some of the local gangs are planning to abandon elaborate choreography in favor of firearms. Far be it for me to ever tell you how to do your job, but I can’t help but feel this is a trend we may want to jump on sooner rather than later.