Unsolicited advice • Passive aggression • Zero accountability
Legal Notice: Brooks is not a licensed therapist, life coach, or functioning adult. Any advice given here is the intellectual equivalent of yelling “have you tried not being an idiot?” into a well. If you follow it and things get worse, that is a feature, not a bug. Do not email us about your feelings. We do not have any.
From: Karen_In_Accounting@probably-outlook.com Subject: RE: The microwave situation / also my husband left
Dear Brooks,
Someone in the office keeps putting fish in the microwave and the entire third floor smells like a discarded aquarium. I have left three passive-aggressive notes. Nothing has changed. Also my husband of eleven years told me last Tuesday that he “needs space to find himself,” which I assume means he’s already found someone else and the space is her apartment.
What should I do?
— Karen
Brooks replies:
Karen,
The microwave situation is a classic tragedy of the commons. The correct response is not more notes. Notes are the linguistic equivalent of a wet handshake. Instead, buy a second, cheaper microwave, label it “FISH ONLY,” and place it next to the original. When they inevitably use the good one anyway, unplug both and leave a final note that simply reads: “I win.”
Regarding your husband: eleven years is a long time to not notice someone was packing an emotional go-bag. The “finding himself” line is the adult version of “I’m going to live with grandma for a while.” He has already found himself. He is currently inside someone who is not you.
Suggestion: change the Wi-Fi password and the Netflix profile name to “Karen’s Solo Journey.” Petty is a language. Speak it fluently.
— Brooks P.S. If the fish person is Gary from logistics, it’s always Gary from logistics.
From: ConcernedCitizen47@protonmail.something Subject: Is it wrong to hate my neighbor’s leaf blower?
Brooks,
Every Saturday at 7:14 a.m. my neighbor fires up a leaf blower that sounds like a Boeing 737 having an argument with a chainsaw. I work nights. I have asked politely. He smiled and said “nature waits for no man.” I am considering mild property damage. Advice?
Brooks replies:
Yes. Hate is the correct emotional response. Leaf blowers are proof that God left the chat.
Do not commit property damage. That is how you end up on a neighborhood Facebook group with a blurry photo and the caption “DOES ANYONE KNOW THIS MAN.” Instead, buy an identical leaf blower and run it at 7:14 a.m. outside his bedroom window every Sunday. When he complains, smile and say “nature waits for no man.”
If that feels too reciprocal, simply start a GoFundMe titled “Help Me Buy This Man a Rake” and send him the link every week until one of you dies.
— Brooks
From: Greg_Who_Still_Uses_AOL Subject: My adult son still lives at home and won’t leave
Dear Brooks,
My 28-year-old son still lives in his childhood bedroom. He has a “startup idea” that involves an app for rating public bathrooms. He has been “almost ready to launch” for four years. He eats my food, uses my Netflix, and once asked me to drive him to a job interview because “Uber is a scam.” How do I get him out without becoming the villain?
Brooks replies:
Greg,
You already are the villain. You are enabling a grown man whose business plan is “Yelp for toilets.” The only thing more depressing than that idea is the fact that someone, somewhere, will eventually fund it.
Start charging him rent. When he says he has no money, reply: “Then it’s a good thing your bedroom is free for the next 48 hours.” Change the Wi-Fi password to something he will never guess, like “GetAJobGreg2026.” If he still doesn’t leave, begin referring to him exclusively in the third person as “the tenant.”
Also: an app that rates public bathrooms is not a startup. It is a cry for help with a logo.
— Brooks
Brooks’ Weekly Observation
We have collectively decided that the highest form of human communication is a 47-slide PowerPoint about “synergy” delivered by a man who still says “circle back” without irony. Meanwhile, actual problems — like the fact that every restaurant now charges $18 for a sandwich that tastes like regret — go unaddressed because we’re too busy arguing about which celebrity’s private jet is more hypocritical.
I once watched a man in a Whole Foods spend eleven minutes deciding between two nearly identical brands of oat milk while a woman behind him held a crying toddler. That man is why we can’t have nice things. That man is also, statistically, someone’s manager.
Anyway. Send more letters. Or don’t. I get paid the same either way (which is nothing).
From: Anonymous_But_Obviously_Steve Subject: Should I tell my boss his new hair transplant looks like a dead squirrel?
Brooks,
My boss got a hair transplant. It looks like someone glued a small woodland creature to his forehead and then set it on fire. Everyone in the office is pretending not to notice. I am not good at pretending. Help.
Brooks replies:
No. Do not tell him. The correct move is to wait until the next all-hands meeting, make prolonged eye contact with the hairline, and then slowly nod as if you’re impressed by the sheer commitment to the bit. If he asks what you’re looking at, say “just admiring the architecture.”
If you absolutely must say something, wait until performance review season and write in the comments section: “Demonstrates strong growth mindset, particularly in the frontal lobe region.”
— Brooks P.S. If the transplant is the kind that looks wet under fluorescent lights, it is already too late for him. And for you.
Editorial Note from the Cat: I have been living in Brooks’ apartment for three years. He still thinks I am a temporary situation. I am not. I have seen things. I have judged things. The microwave fish person is, in fact, Gary. I watched him do it through the window. — Sebastian (the cat)
From: WomanWhoHasHadEnough@gmail.com Subject: My mother-in-law keeps “accidentally” calling me by my husband’s ex-girlfriend’s name
Dear Brooks,
It’s been six years. Six. Years. She does it at dinner, at birthdays, once during a toast at our anniversary. My husband says “she’s just forgetful.” She is not forgetful. She remembers the names of every contestant on The Bachelor since 2008. What do I do?
Brooks replies:
Start calling her by the name of your husband’s previous, slightly less successful, girlfriend. When she corrects you, look confused and say “I’m so sorry, I must have mixed you up with the other one. There have been so many.”
Alternatively, the next time she does it, pause, smile warmly, and say: “It’s okay. I still call your son by his childhood nickname when I’m annoyed with him. We all have our little games.”
Then pass the potatoes like nothing happened. Psychological warfare is best served with gravy.
— Brooks
Final Thought Before I Go Lie Down
Most of your problems are not unique. They are the same problems every generation has had, just now with better lighting and worse attention spans. The difference is that previous generations solved them by either getting divorced, moving to another state, or dying quietly of something preventable. You people want a podcast about it.
Stop writing me. Or keep writing me. I will continue to answer in the same tone regardless. That tone is “mildly disappointed uncle who has seen this movie before and knows how it ends.”
Brooks DearBrooks.com — Est. whenever. Updated never. Judged constantly.
