Paying the Bill at Macy’s
Somehow or other, one bill managed to escape Mama Dog’s grasp this last week, a Macy’s bill from, embarrassingly enough, the last time she bought me some underdrawers. She noticed the bill on Saturday after post office hours, and saw that it was due Monday. Fretting ensued. Would she be able to convince them to waive the late charge by calling and saying it was in the mail? Perhaps we could take a side trip on our very busy social Sunday (two different birthday parties forecast) and pay at the Macy’s in Walnut Crick. “No problem,” says I, “I’ll just go to the Macy’s in Union Square over my lunch hour on Monday.” “That’ll take your whole lunch hour,” says Mama Dog. “I don’t mind,” says I. “Are you sure?” she asks. “That’s why I offered,” I replies. Except for the specific details of Macy’s, Union Square, lunch hour, and Monday, we have this conversation regularly.
This morning as we were rushing about getting ready to get ourselves and Baby Dog out the door, the subject came up again. I suspect that sometimes Mama Dog has reservations about my competence in the areas of certain practical tasks. I’m not sure where these reservations come from because I am assuredly competent, but she has them nonetheless. “When you pay the bill,” she asked, “will you get a receipt?” “Oh,” I said, in that smart-ass way of mine, “is that what you want me to do? I was just going to crumple up the bill and the cheque and toss it in the front door as I passed by.” (This may actually be where she gets her reservations; just a guess.) “No,” Mama Dog groaned, shifting to exaggerated literalism, “I want you to go to the payment office and present the bill and say ‘I should like to pay the balance owing on this bill’ and give them the cheque and get a receipt.” “Oh, okay,” I said, “let’s compromise; as I toss the wad in the door while I pass by, I’ll yell ‘HERE YA GO!’”
The lunch hour sojourn to Macy’s turned out to be entirely pleasant and even productive. It gave me an unaccustomed little pocket of free time in the middle of the day to actually think without irritating work-related interruptions. I was able to devote upwards of twenty minutes of thought to my next project, and managed to crack the problem with the narrative structure that’s been eluding me for the last five years. I think I’m almost ready to write the thing. Thank you, Macy’s.
It turns out also that I practically could have wadded the thing up and tossed it in the front door. There’s no payment office. You just pay at any cash register. No muss, no fuss. I was in and out and back to the office with a total elapsed time of only slightly over half an hour. I even had time to eat my lunch before the afternoon’s first irritation. I must try to get out of the office more often.
This morning as we were rushing about getting ready to get ourselves and Baby Dog out the door, the subject came up again. I suspect that sometimes Mama Dog has reservations about my competence in the areas of certain practical tasks. I’m not sure where these reservations come from because I am assuredly competent, but she has them nonetheless. “When you pay the bill,” she asked, “will you get a receipt?” “Oh,” I said, in that smart-ass way of mine, “is that what you want me to do? I was just going to crumple up the bill and the cheque and toss it in the front door as I passed by.” (This may actually be where she gets her reservations; just a guess.) “No,” Mama Dog groaned, shifting to exaggerated literalism, “I want you to go to the payment office and present the bill and say ‘I should like to pay the balance owing on this bill’ and give them the cheque and get a receipt.” “Oh, okay,” I said, “let’s compromise; as I toss the wad in the door while I pass by, I’ll yell ‘HERE YA GO!’”
The lunch hour sojourn to Macy’s turned out to be entirely pleasant and even productive. It gave me an unaccustomed little pocket of free time in the middle of the day to actually think without irritating work-related interruptions. I was able to devote upwards of twenty minutes of thought to my next project, and managed to crack the problem with the narrative structure that’s been eluding me for the last five years. I think I’m almost ready to write the thing. Thank you, Macy’s.
It turns out also that I practically could have wadded the thing up and tossed it in the front door. There’s no payment office. You just pay at any cash register. No muss, no fuss. I was in and out and back to the office with a total elapsed time of only slightly over half an hour. I even had time to eat my lunch before the afternoon’s first irritation. I must try to get out of the office more often.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:36 PM
1 Comments:
Thank you for running that errand, Papa Dog. I had really expected the chore to be a highly tedious one, involving combing all eight floors of Macy's trying to find the payment office. I had no idea you could pay the bill at ANY cash register. Hope you remembered the receipt!
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