My Befogged Vizier
I love the names on spam emails. Which is good, because I get a lot of it at work. For a while, I was getting messages from names like Enchanted Q. Hatstand, which I thought was delightful. Recently they've changed to real, slightly old-fashioned names. Today I was offered the chance to buy cheap pharmaceut1cals by both Gladys Calhoun and Agnes McGill. Don't they sound like a pair of tough old grannies?
Waiting for the sandwich squisher to heat up at lunchtime yesterday, I was looking out the office kitchen's window. Brian came in and said, 'It's a good little window to look out while you wait, a good view over the sea,' and I admitted I wasn't looking across to the sea, but down into the car park, where a green-P-plater (a second-year driver) was attempting to pull into a park and making a terrible hash of it. He pulled in crooked but instead of backing all the way out and straightening up, he would back out a tiny way, move forward, back out a tiny way, move forward, and so on. A fifty-point turn, in other words. Then Leeanne came in with a stranger, who turned out to be a signwriter, and they wanted to look out the window so he could see where to paint our new logo on the fence, and the four of us stood and watched this boy trying to park. Over five minutes it took, and it still wasn't remotely straight when he decided he'd had enough. He looked exhausted when he got out, poor kid.
In yesterday's mail I had a letter from a charity, one I've never had anything to do with, and taped to the letter was a five cent piece. The letter said I could keep the five cents to remind me of all the fine and necessary work the charity does, or I could return it as part of my donation. I chose the unspoken third option: I shredded the letter and used the five cents to buy the paper this morning. Was this wrong?
Waiting for the sandwich squisher to heat up at lunchtime yesterday, I was looking out the office kitchen's window. Brian came in and said, 'It's a good little window to look out while you wait, a good view over the sea,' and I admitted I wasn't looking across to the sea, but down into the car park, where a green-P-plater (a second-year driver) was attempting to pull into a park and making a terrible hash of it. He pulled in crooked but instead of backing all the way out and straightening up, he would back out a tiny way, move forward, back out a tiny way, move forward, and so on. A fifty-point turn, in other words. Then Leeanne came in with a stranger, who turned out to be a signwriter, and they wanted to look out the window so he could see where to paint our new logo on the fence, and the four of us stood and watched this boy trying to park. Over five minutes it took, and it still wasn't remotely straight when he decided he'd had enough. He looked exhausted when he got out, poor kid.
In yesterday's mail I had a letter from a charity, one I've never had anything to do with, and taped to the letter was a five cent piece. The letter said I could keep the five cents to remind me of all the fine and necessary work the charity does, or I could return it as part of my donation. I chose the unspoken third option: I shredded the letter and used the five cents to buy the paper this morning. Was this wrong?