Our Canadian Postal Code is N2N 3B4. When asked for it, to prevent mistakes due to misheard pronunciation, we tell people that it is, “Not too new, three before.”
For the letter
I downloaded these prompts;
negotiate, no, new, news(papers), notes, not my problem, Niagara, night, name, nothing
In no particular order;
I have already composed and published a post about ‘It’s Not My Problem’ here, for anyone who wants to (re)read it.
I live about an hour and a half drive from Niagara Falls, Ontario. It’s an unusual year that I don’t take the wife, the son, or both, for a day or a weekend there. I published a 100-word Flash Fiction about it here, including a great photo of the night-time colored lights on the American side, buried in the comments.
I’m so old that nothing is new anymore. I’ve seen it all, done most of it, forgotten a bunch, and been caught at very little.
I’ve written about my lack of memory, a problem that I partially solve with copious notes. See – prompts, above.
I’m sure like many others, my wife is addicted to the word no, and doesn’t even realize it. (and I’m not gonna mention it) The first word of response to any question or request, is likely to be, “No.” Maybe it comes from raising children or grandkids. “Do you want me to put the rest of this stew in a Tupperware container, and put it in the fridge? We could have it for lunch one day next week.” “No. I want to save it for a lunch next week. Put it in a Tupperware container and put it in the fridge.”
For no reason, other than that I never have, I continue not to reveal my first name on my blog-site. I kinda discussed this back on M’s misidentification post. Call me Ishmael Archon.
Several years ago, the Waterloo Region Record newspaper switched to being a ‘morning’ paper, guaranteed to be to your house by 5:30 AM. When it was an afternoon paper, it was delivered by reliable school-kids after class. Now, it is delivered to me by a Jamaican Negro in an old truck. Since the son works midnights, he has the car, and the driveway is empty.
Rasta-Man rolls down the hill in neutral, rolls up our slanted driveway and puts the brakes on, flings the paper out the driver’s window left-handed, and rolls back out of the driveway. He’s only touched the house with the paper twice in that time. Once, it landed on my porch roof, and the other time he pitched the heavy Saturday edition through the porch railing, snapping one of the support spindles. I have found it in two different gardens, stuck up in our magnolia bush and so far under it that, like the porch roof delivery, I had to use a broom to get it. Often it lands at the garage corner – right where the eave drips after a rain, or a snow melt. Fortunately, they come in a plastic bag, although I’ve had to defrost an ice-coated paper.
Last summer, he must have taken vacation. On the first Monday, I called circulation because I didn’t get my copy. Someone drove one out to me. We don’t get mail home delivery, but I have a mailbox for things like newspapers. Tuesday, as I went out to look, something made me look in the box. Sure enough, there were Monday, and Tuesday’s papers, and so it continued for two weeks.
One time, at the auto-parts plant, I was invited to join the Labor team who would negotiate a new contract. I politely declined. It takes a particular type of person, and my boredom level is quickly reached. Diplomacy is also defined as tact, or restraint, or good manners. Like diplomats, people who negotiate Labor contracts have to get used to repeatedly saying ‘nothing’, for days, weeks, even months, until finally someone cracks.
One year, we mistakenly elected a big ‘Buffalo Biker’ as union president, to lead the team. We thought that he would frighten the opposition. He screamed and yelled and stomped around the room, and pounded on tables….but, that’s not the way you successfully negotiate. It was the worst contract we ever attained. 😳