Ben Oostdam story # 187

ERNESTO AFTERMATH

This September Two morning it was fun to wake up next to our 5 year old grandson Parker, sleeping with us overnight while his Dad was partying away the night to celebrate his divorce and his Mom was languishing in jail for violating her parole and drinking and - to increase the soap opera effect - probably remembering that Sep.1 was their 16th wedding anniversary... We were the default, since it was daughter's weekend to have the kids, and already early in the morning we accepted her collect phone call at an unmentionably high charge to hear Parker ask where she was and when she was to come back from "school".

I made him and myself bacon and eggs and let OMA sleep on this long weekend of vacation for her. Parker then proceeded to take a bath and shampoo his own hair, after which I put on his clean pull-ups and clothes to keep out the September chill enhanced by the Ernesto aftermath rainstorm. I tried to get down to my task: to finish writing this week's journal, based on my draft notes which were almost unintelligible.

Fortunately, OMA got up and took Parker shopping by 10:30 so as part of my multi-tasking efforts, I decided to write one check and one deposit and to race to the mailbox to have them go out before the long Labor Day weekend. Unfortunately, the mailperson seemed to have been early, and in the incoming mail I found another check to be deposited. Nevertheless and anyhow - whatever- I decided to go and mail the two envelopes in Shenk's Lane - but "they" had removed that mailbox, so on to the next, opposite the Student Union (and the PSECU ATM) where I learned that the mail only gets picked up from there at 11:00 - and it was now 11:10.

Should I go to the Post Office auspicating a later hour for mail pickup?? Not trusting the US Postal Service I decided not to do so. I might have deposited the two checks I had at the PSECU-ATM now that I was there, but recalled while turning that I had "committed" myself to mailing the first check by using the UPost@Home option , so opening the letter would waste the 39 cent stamp \(by law you cannot reuse even your own stamp; also see Phil@ely) and furthermore, I could mail the second check later and separately.

But that would cost (waste) another 39 cents, I figured while completing my turn away, when the thought intruded that the high cost of gasoline probably made it not worth while to drive around the block and approach the ATM from the correct side. The afterthought that gas prices had just dropped to $ 2.65 per gallon (from almost $ 3.00 a few weeks ago) left me in another predicament (typical for frugal Dutch people) which I solved by deciding to go home and sort it all out later - the Hell with it, and it so happened that Parker had just told us last night everything he knew about Hell and Heaven.

But on the way back I saw the jeep of the mail-person's ("it" i.e. the person happens to be a she but who am I to discriminate or change the English language) and decided to look into my mailbox, realizing that the mail I had collected earlier must have been yesterday's? - but my box was empty, while the neighbor's was full and as a good detective I recalled having seen him or her (my eye-sight is weakening, too) down the driveway when I left so at that time their mailbox would have been emptied, so I just did not get any mail to-day, and could have avoided the need to go out of my way to mail these two letters - Instead, I could have just taken out my (yesterday's) mail and left the two letters for the mail person to collect, then gone home and finish my journal. It would then also not have been necessary to write this true story.

No, nothing is that simple, for when I got back to my computer I thought that I might deposit the second check on UPost@Home quickly. Ironically, however, the total of the two rental checks I was going to deposit used to be exactly $ 1,500, but I had just raised the rent so that the total now exceeded $ 1,500 - which so happened to be the limit for my UPost@Home option for this day ...

"Serves you right, Shylock," I thought and also shivered at the sudden memory flash that yesterday in the Wound Treatment Center I had been told by Dr. Flood that he was going to secure a lab-treated alive foreskin from someone's circumcision to use as a graft - should I send a card on his (no not hers; also not Dr. Flood's, but the prospective donor's) Bar Mitzvah and/or would (the) graft make me part Jewish? Or would I rather go with the other Semites and do away with any interest except that Allah is Great? That took me to thoughts regarding my feelings about the entire hyper-modern, most current and up-to-date (but really age-old) Jewish-Christian-Muslim (fascism) controversy, but that is another story...

Postcript, by the way: My apologies to who(m)soever read through this entire story for its howdullness, but I have no time to juicen it up (pun: jew)cause I got to get back to finishing my journal so I will be up-to-date again: it's just past noon now and let's do away with multi-tasking for a bit! (that's 25 cents, but I'll take half of that! habbele habbele bisa tawar

BLO fecit 200609021230 - stories
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