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It's not spring, but it's time for some cleaning around here. One long-neglected spot was our front patio, which had been building up drifts of old leaves - I understand the local fence lizards like this, and we do get a lot of them - simply because I lacked any efficient way to remove them. I said, this is ridiculous, let us go to OSH, the large hardware store, and see what they have. I came back with a rake - a more usable size than the old one we had, which seems to have disappeared anyway - two brooms of different kinds, and the most essential item of all, the World's Biggest Dustpan, with a carrying capacity of nearly a cubic foot, but still small enough to be lifted when full and have a large plastic garbage bag slide over it. In previous years, I'd tried shoving the leaves into the bag directly; as you can imagine, this worked better. Gaffer Gamgee I'm not.
Somewhat more exciting were the trips to the bank. I wished to order a small press book from overseas and was given a price in Euros, plus the number of a bank account to transfer the money to. Banker started to process the transaction, then stopped herself and revealed that additional items of info about the bank account were needed. I asked if that was everything, was assured it was. Went home, wrote e-mail, got reply saying "I was told they were not needed," but here they were. Returned to bank next day, went through transaction again. Then was told that, since the bank, though not the vendor, was in the UK, the money could only be transferred in pounds sterling (or dollars), not Euros. "You should have told me that yesterday," I said, painting a dismal portrait of the prospect of another exchange of e-mails and a third visit.
I'll give the banker credit. She called tech support and found a way to get a Euros option on the screen. And the transaction went through, I hope: we'll see if I get the book. The fact that this experience made me begin to see myself as Aotrou, and my bank as the Corrigan, might clue you in as to what I was ordering.
Somewhat more exciting were the trips to the bank. I wished to order a small press book from overseas and was given a price in Euros, plus the number of a bank account to transfer the money to. Banker started to process the transaction, then stopped herself and revealed that additional items of info about the bank account were needed. I asked if that was everything, was assured it was. Went home, wrote e-mail, got reply saying "I was told they were not needed," but here they were. Returned to bank next day, went through transaction again. Then was told that, since the bank, though not the vendor, was in the UK, the money could only be transferred in pounds sterling (or dollars), not Euros. "You should have told me that yesterday," I said, painting a dismal portrait of the prospect of another exchange of e-mails and a third visit.
I'll give the banker credit. She called tech support and found a way to get a Euros option on the screen. And the transaction went through, I hope: we'll see if I get the book. The fact that this experience made me begin to see myself as Aotrou, and my bank as the Corrigan, might clue you in as to what I was ordering.
