Monday March 2nd, 2015

The exercise:

Write about: the donation.

We didn't accomplish as much as I'd hoped to in the bathroom reno department today, but we did manage to put together a proper attic access point. So no more drafty hole in the ceiling, which is definitely a plus. It'll need to be caulked and painted at some point, but it's something.

I'll be spending most of tomorrow cleaning up the house in Kaleden and collecting the remainder of our things. Kat will be with the kids, teaching her last session before spring break, so I should have plenty of time to get everything done.

Famous last words, right?

Mine:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing to thank you for your very generous donation.

I would also like to apologize for the vague salutation that began this letter. You see, I was unable to decipher your handwriting to the point where I could actually read your name. The same goes for at least eight of my coworkers.

A few of us thought your name might be Rachel, another suggested Louis, Mike in accounting was sure it was Boris, and the janitor was absolutely adamant that it was Donatello.

Regardless of whatever your name may be, I shall say again: thank you.

There is, I must admit, one other reason for the letter you now hold in your hands. Or have spread open upon your dinner table. Or coffee table. Or dog.

I'm not here to judge you.

You see, there have been questions raised about the validity of your donation. There are some in my office that, yes, believe it to be a prank. The brainchild of a demented mind. A right, royal, dick move, as it were.

Please accept my deepest, most sincere apologies if any of this offends you.

At any rate, it would be greatly appreciated if, at your earliest convenience, you could confirm the dollar amount written on your cheque. Preferably before I am forced to walk into a bank and attempt to deposit it.

I shall anxiously await your reply. And I will keep my fingers crossed that you do, in fact, have the promised 'eleventy billion dollars' in your bank account.

Sincerely,
Scroo Yu Jurq

3 Comments:

Greg said...

It sounds like you made progress on the bathroom, even if it's not finished, and that's surely the most important thing! Well done :)
Who's got Max while you're cleaning and selling off things you think the previous owners won't miss? That sounds like the potential fly in the ointment to me ;-)
Ah, that is indeed a generous donation, and I see nothing wrong with "eleventy billion dollars" myself. Your letter-writer is far too cynical and disbelieving! I do like how the letter's tone seeks to be neutral, and even positive, but then gives up right at the end with the frustration the writer undoubtedly feels.

The donation
"The sign said 'Free to a good home'," said the Green Lightbulb. Sylvestra snorted. "But I'm going to love him!"
"How in the world in the Headquarters of the Council of Nastiness a good home?" she said. "We're evil, that's the whole point of our organisation. We plot how to put bleach into duty-free alcohol bottles, how to use lead, arsenic and belladonna in modern cosmetics, and we rob banks and fight superheroes to keep them from doing their 'duty'."
"It's got a roof and it's warm," said the Green Lightbulb. He was wobbling slightly, but Sylvestra had put that down to him either being drunk or still suffering from the side-effects of his medication. "That's got to be better than nothing."
"It rains here, on average, twice a year," said Sylvestra. "And only between 10am and 4pm, when plenty of places are open for business and shelter. The typical temperature is in the mid-20s, and that's in Winter. The street is definitely a valid place to live. There's even a beach if the street is too urban for you!"
"But I love him," said the Green Lightbulb. The King Cobra he was cradling raised its head and flared its hood. It hissed threatening, and then bit the Green Lightbulb on the nose.
"Who's a pretty wookie ookums?" said the Green Lightbulb wobbling even more and starting to emit green flashes of gamma radiation.
"What's going on?" asked Dr. Septopus, coming in. He caught a blast of gamma rays and promptly retreated behind the couch, where Sylvestra joined him.
"Someone donated a snake to Green," she said, failing to not smirk.
"Not another one," sighed Dr. Septopus.

morganna said...

The crew at the thrift store opened the box quickly. They weren't really paying attention, a lot of donations had come in overnight, and there was only half an hour before the doors would open and more donations would come pouring in. They didn't notice the box wiggling slightly, or the faint odor that emerged. They definitely noticed the slimy green tentacle that emerged from between the box flaps as soon as the tape was slit. Anna screamed and Michael threw the box out into the driveway. Anna frantically dialed 911 as the green octopus slithered out of the box and onto the asphalt. They all screamed again as it started to move, then breathed in relief as it moved into the grasses. They didn't wait around any longer, but ran through the building as fast as they could, away from the thing. The cops could deal with it. The back of the building began to crumble.

Marc said...

Greg - ah, I did neglect to mention that Kat's parents would be taking care of Max while we were both busy. No way in the world could I have gotten all that work done if he had been with me.

Oh dear, poor Green. Never seems to catch a break, does he? Though I do wonder just who it is that keeps donating poisonous snakes to him...

Morganna - oof, that is not a very welcome donation at all. Who left it, I can't help but wondering. And that detail in the final line, so casually mentioned, is great :)