Mysterious package a.k.a. stupid bank
The headline for this post was supposed to be mysterious package and by double-heading it I give away the punchline, but I really am peeved. Also at myself, but the reasons for that will become obvious.
My spouse told me that the package was probably: a binder from our bank. That's right, our bank sends us binders from time to time, presumably to facilitate our storing the bank statements in an orderly way. I say "from time to time" because this happened also last year. A package! And then trekking to the post office only to find: a binder. Because these binders, you see, don't fit through the mail slot.
Anyway, last year they sent us two binders. Two! And this year, I got one from a neighbor who happened to be home when the post attempted delivery. She knocked on our door to present me it. I acted pleased, I mean, it's not her fault they keep sending us these stupid binders. As if we don't have a filing cabinet. As if we want to store our statements in binders. As if we can't buy binders, ourselves, having a more attractive appearance that "white with bank logo." But then I acted grouchy with my spouse, and after all, it's not his fault either. Stupid bank.
So I already had one binder, and then there was a package slip from the post office. Pick up your package at (address quite a bit further from our house than the former package-pick-up location around the corner, where I grumblingly picked up last year's binders). Still with me? So spousykins says, it's probably another binder. You remember, they sent us two last year. Which I didn't remember, but I guess it was true. So Saturday afternoon I pass by this postal location but, alas, it closed at 14:00 on Saturday. Then whilst blogging yesterday I stumbled on the thought that, hey, maybe this package is something I actually want, like a package from my mommykins. So I headed up there again this morning, cutting into my work time (hey, every cloud has a silver lining) and stood in line (well, actually here you take a number), and then waited forever while the guy looked everywhere for my package -- the package slip said house number 88, whereas my actual house number is 81, whereas the package was marked with 18 -- anyway, it turned out to be (you guessed it by now): the binder from the bank.
Which brings me back to my original conclusion.
Stupid bank.
My spouse told me that the package was probably: a binder from our bank. That's right, our bank sends us binders from time to time, presumably to facilitate our storing the bank statements in an orderly way. I say "from time to time" because this happened also last year. A package! And then trekking to the post office only to find: a binder. Because these binders, you see, don't fit through the mail slot.
Anyway, last year they sent us two binders. Two! And this year, I got one from a neighbor who happened to be home when the post attempted delivery. She knocked on our door to present me it. I acted pleased, I mean, it's not her fault they keep sending us these stupid binders. As if we don't have a filing cabinet. As if we want to store our statements in binders. As if we can't buy binders, ourselves, having a more attractive appearance that "white with bank logo." But then I acted grouchy with my spouse, and after all, it's not his fault either. Stupid bank.
So I already had one binder, and then there was a package slip from the post office. Pick up your package at (address quite a bit further from our house than the former package-pick-up location around the corner, where I grumblingly picked up last year's binders). Still with me? So spousykins says, it's probably another binder. You remember, they sent us two last year. Which I didn't remember, but I guess it was true. So Saturday afternoon I pass by this postal location but, alas, it closed at 14:00 on Saturday. Then whilst blogging yesterday I stumbled on the thought that, hey, maybe this package is something I actually want, like a package from my mommykins. So I headed up there again this morning, cutting into my work time (hey, every cloud has a silver lining) and stood in line (well, actually here you take a number), and then waited forever while the guy looked everywhere for my package -- the package slip said house number 88, whereas my actual house number is 81, whereas the package was marked with 18 -- anyway, it turned out to be (you guessed it by now): the binder from the bank.
Which brings me back to my original conclusion.
Stupid bank.
posted by AlleyCat | 17:43
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home