Thursday, September 21, 2006

A glorious youth arrives at my door. To deliver my printing. "We've given you extra," he says proudly, "To make up for the delay." I'm charmed. 1000 letterhead. Fantastic! 1500 business cards. 1500? Hang about: I was being optimistic when I asked for three hundred... I'll use them as coasters, I think, pulling out the new writing paper eagerly. Holy moley... My heart stops. "Ummm, Colin, this paper's laid." His unmarked brow starts to furrow. "You asked for laid." I shake my head. "I changed my mind in your office, remember? I chose the weave." There is silence. He's brought riches to my door. And I'm throwing them in his face. Typical woman! We do a delicate dance around the finer points of laid and weave. Trivia too dull for even a pub quiz. "Will you be in trouble over this?" I ask. He nods: "Big trouble." I don't have the heart. "I'll take it then," I say. And write the cheque. "Do me a favour - can I have 200 weave at cost?" He shakes his head: "Better. I'll do them for free. I'll run them off when the printers go early tomorrow." Bless. As he drove away I suddenly remembered this week's story of the boy who lost his arm in the butcher's mincer. And wondered if the hapless youth actually knows how to operate an offset-litho machine. The paper looks rather good now the shock's worn off. I may call in the morning and tell him to forget it:-o

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