A while back, tired of endlessly scribbling down my name and number for people or doing the palm pilot fumble-dance, I took advantage of an offer from a company called VistaPrint to send me a pack of “free” business cards. Well, okay, they cost $10 for “shipping and handling”, but they were reasonably thick, had a cute color pattern on them, and — most importantly — I could design them and order them from the web, without having to talk to a single salesperson. Win.
I was about halfway through my first pack of 250 cards when self-inflicted catastrophe struck: I completely forgot that I needed to renew my P.O. Box in november, and the kind souls at the Bowling Green Station quickly and efficiently gave the box to someone else. I should note for the record that this was the only quick or efficient thing they had ever done in 4 years of holding a PO Box there.
Since the whole reason I’d forgotten was that I was no longer working anywhere near Bowling Green and thus was only checking the box once every few months or so, I took this as a perfect opportunity to get a box a bit closer to my current office, at the Canal Street post office. (Where they may or may not be any more efficient, but where at least when they are slacking off and exchanging office gossip right behind the window that I am waiting at, I am blissfully ignorant of the slacking, for they are gossiping in Mandarin.)
That sorted, the obvious next step was to order a new box of cards, which I dutifully did. A week after the order was made, I got a friendly email notice that they’d dispatched the cards to me. Today, the cards arrived. Unfortunatly, they are not my cards. They are, in fact, well:
The best part of this is the certain knowledge that somewhere in Nigeria, one very confused doctor is holding a box of bright purple cards that say “Doctor Memory — My Minions are Everywhere!” I guess I’ve done my part to advance the cause of international surrealism today.