Done…with pleasure.

While trying to pull things together for my trip out Left, I’ve been stressing about a check that was due to me last week. If I leave, there’s no telling what will happen to it. Especially around here. Even getting your prescriptions by mail is hazardous duty.

This company is so busy, you can’t always get a live body. The company’s name is Adorama. They specialize in camera equipment and anything to do with multimedia. They are killer!

If you order something on line, no matter what delivery option you specify, it’s at your door the next day. Some days, that night??? Whoa.

So I’m in a bind now, I have one foot out the door on my way to Cactus Country and the other in the land of miserable apprehension. I am screwed.

When I get the guy on the phone, he tells me the check was sent out last week. Shit! This is getting complicated.

So he says in his best Manhattanese, “No worries, give me your bank routing number.” I give it to him and says, “Done…with pleasure.”

“Done…with pleasure.” What a beautiful phrase.

It’s a keeper.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

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