A family friend told the story of a guy she knows who moved to New
Orleans and couldn't figure out why his trash wasn't getting picked up.
He asked a neighbor about it. The neighbor said, "Have you paid the guy
twenty dollars yet this month?"
My friend and his new wife went to Costa Rica on their honeymoon and
daytripped in Panama. That evening, the same Costa Rican guard who'd
let them into Panama made up a law: "You can't come back into the
country so soon," he said. "You have to stay in Panama for three days."
My friend said, "I've heard that there is a ten-dollar fee I can pay."
"Yes," the guard said. "There is a fee."
I was reading submissions for a magazine and thinking, "What if the
people who sent their stories also sent me money?" (I love receiving
money.) One solution is the trash collector's: Stop responding to
submissions until folks figure it out: "Durham doesn't get back to you
until you mail him some Cracker Barrel gift cards." But it'd be faster
to make like the border guard and tell them myself. "Dear Sir or Madam,
We're delighted to inform you that we've made a decision regarding the
stuff you emailed us. To find out what that decision is, please paypal
one chicken soft taco to gabe (dot) (diggity) donnovan @ errolsinternet
(dot) com. Happy to let the decision fester on the curb until you do."
Love to yours,
- - -
Read GD's story, "Perk."
w i g · l e a F