Roger Collier

We have a problem. Well, I have a problem -- with you. We go back a long way, you and I, and though I wouldn't say I've enjoyed our relationship, our weekly meetings have at least been tolerable. But you've changed.

To be honest, I've never really liked you (no offence). First of all, you're an expensive friend to keep. Sure, I have other buddies who need a few bucks now and then, but none is like you. It costs me $50 every time I see you.

I have never opened a credit-card statement that didn't have your name all over it. I'm surprised Visa doesn't send you a Christmas card for all the business you throw their way.

You tell me it's not your fault that you need so much money. You blame it on the government, on taxes. You blame it on the global economy, on unpredictable geopolitical events (whatever that means). Maybe you're right. Still, you can understand how this puts a strain on our relationship.

I'm also ticked that you insist we always meet outside. OK, you love the outdoors -- I get it! But during winter? We don't live in Miami, bud. This is Ottawa. It gets cold out there. Perhaps you enjoy standing around freezing your hose off. I don't.

I do appreciate it, however, that you choose meeting places that are covered by canopies. I'd prefer not to see you on rainy days, but sometimes I have no choice. At least I can stay dry while you empty my wallet.

Unless, that is, the rain is accompanied by high winds. On those days, our get-togethers leave me both poorer and waterlogged. It's like going to a waterpark, without the fun.

Of course, your money hunger and fear of indoor spaces have always been problems. Over the decades, though, I've come to accept them. Those aren't the reasons I'm writing you this letter.

For the past few years, you've been acting differently. At first I didn't mind. Then it got worse. Now I feel I have no choice but to be frank: You ask too many questions.

It began with just a few questions. Every time I dropped by, for instance, you would ask me if I wanted a receipt. You would also ask me if I wanted a car wash. I usually said no to both questions, though I sometimes got a car wash in winter, when my Volkswagen was coated in salt.

One day, you asked me if I collected Air Miles. I told you I didn't. The next week, you asked me again. My answer was the same: no. But that didn't put an end to it. You kept asking me, week after week. It's been years now and you still ask me that stupid question every time I see you, even though the answer never changes.

Recently, you began asking me a new question: "Are you getting a fill-up?" What kind of question is that? Of course I am getting a fill-up. I don't visit you for the sparkling conversation. I visit you because I need to fill my gas tank.

Do you really have many visitors who don't want a fill-up? I mean, who puts $10 of gas in their car and stops pumping? If you are down to your last $10, perhaps you should be spending it on something besides gas -- something like, say, food? Besides, if you are paying with a credit card or debit card, does it matter if you run a few pennies over what you intended to spend?

Look, I appreciate the fact that I can pay you directly. It is far more convenient than the way it used to be, when I had to walk to a nearby building and pay some dour teenager.

I have young children and dragging them out of the car every time I needed gas was a pain. Also, that building was full of candies and chocolate bars, the sight of which would transform my kids into sugar-lusting whiners.

But enough is enough. Please, no more questions. Can't you just let me pay, pump and go? Do I have to stand in the frigid January air while you pepper me with inane questions just to get gas?

Anyway, I have to wrap this up. I'm driving to Toronto today to visit family, which means I have to get gas. See you in a few minutes.