Bare Bones Biology 255 – Whimper or Bang?

Last evening, my friendly local bank wanted a hard copy of a bank statement from my Texas bank. Unfortunately, I left all that filing in the canyon three days ago, and the bank wanted it in a hurry. It was either drive all the way back down into the deep dark canyon and get the papers, and I don’t drive at night because I can’t see a thing and there are no street lights in the canyon, and there are bears and mountain lions and various other sentient beings, all with needs of their own that I might not share. So instead of going after the documents, we called the other bank and they sent a secure email. (Secure email? What’s that? At my age I should not be required to learn about an entire new culture.)

I figured out how to open it, and by that time I was exhausted and the bank was
closed anyhow, so I went to bed thinking – I will print these out, take them to the bank in the morning, and then go down to the canyon to fetch all the filing in case somebody wants something more.

In the morning, I fired up my printer, attached it to the computer, and left it working while I loaded up my white pickup for the trip down canyon.

The printer choked twice, claimed to be jammed but wasn’t, so I transferred the documents to thumb drive and drove over to the bank to arrive first thing, forgetting my coat in the rush.

The bank can’t use thumb drives, nor can they plug my computer into their printer. So they gave me some paper that is a little shinier, and I went back home, threw the coat into the pickup, and managed to print out the 21 pages by using the different paper, a different computer, a different operating system, and sitting next the printer doing one page at a time.

Red Pickup-ASC_6485I don’t know why they need this, by the way, not to DO anything with. It’s already done. Maybe to remember me by.

I went back to the bank and gave them the documents. Then proceeded in the white pickup for the canyon.

I was 3/4 of the way to the canyon when the white pickup stopped running for no apparent reason. Right at the only place on the highway system that proves Verizon WRONG. Cell phones do NOT work here. Never have; probably never will. Everyone knows this.

So I waited about half an hour and tried to start it up again. No luck. And I put on my WARM COAT, and set out to hike about four miles to the canyon, leaving Bitsy in the white truck because it’s hard enough walking four or five miles on the highway, much less doing it with an unruly dog on lead.

About 1/4 mile down the road the snow started. Not the kind of snow you are thinking about. It was like little hard BBs blowing straight into my face. And FYI, It is REALLY dumb even to HAVE a vehicle in this kind of country without it has a warmcoat and a sleeping bag in it at all times. I already KNEW that.

I figured there was no hope that any of these jazzy tourists and hardworking truckers would stop for me, at least not without me waving a thumb, and I decided against thumbing because it’s a curvy road, hard to stop from speed, and I thought probably a wrinkled old timer and his Apache wife, driving a pickup even older than mine, would eventually come by and stop, even without being asked.

Sure enough, they did, and drove me all the rest of the way to my canyon pickup which is an equally old red Ram four wheel drive that I got the first year, after Joey’s wrecker had to come a few times and drag the white truck out of the canyon. It lives at the head of the canyon and always starts right up.

And of course I drove back to get Bitsy because the sun was coming out by that time, and loaded all that stuff into the red pickup, leaving the old white by the side of the road, gave up any idea of going down into the canyon for documents or even for my new tooth, and drove back where I came from to Joey’s Wrecker, to give him the keys to the white pickup and ask him to bring it home.

About that time I remembered that the red pickup has had its license revoked because — well, this is another long story about documents, but the red pickup is registered in New Mexico, the white pickup in Texas, and the auto insurance came due while I was in Texas, so I walked in and paid it, but failed to use the appropriate document to prove to New Mexico that it is still insured. So they revoked my license and sent the notice to the wrong address. That’s the short version.

So my question is — where do I live? I thought I was an American. It says so on my passport, and oh yes, I forgot to give them the change of address. But really, people keep asking me where I am a resident of? I never had that happen in my real lifetime. In those days, I jumped in the car and drove someplace, or even jumped in a plane, so long as I had a passport, and went someplace. That was it. Now people keep asking me where am I a resident of, and I do not know the answer, or at least I do not have the right documents that they will believe to prove it with.

No wonder these later generations seem to be afraid of everything. You don’t think so?  Just mention the word “overpopulation” and see what happens.  But in a way I don’t blame them.  It seems like we can’t do anything “right.” Or there is nothing “right” available to do.

This document was written in “Pages.” I shall now try to save it .docx so I can work with it on another computer that has all the benefits of WORD, but doesn’t recognize docx. Or should I instead try to save it as a pdf, and can I then open it in .doc, which I can use on my other computer? No such luck. It’s an Adobe product and they have all gone up in smoke – pardon me, clouds.

Maybe that’s why your friendly local bank, that has now been bought by your efficient international insurance company, that may or may not be owned by the Koch brothers. Maybe that’s why they require paperwork – reams and reams of paperwork, even when it doesn’t make sense.

They know.

All of this is make-believe answers to make-believe problems, and it will
all go poof when the internet crashes.

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For the unedited version of this commentary, go to:…himper-or-bang/


This is Bare Bones Biology, a production of FactFictionFancy and KEOS FM, 89.1 in Bryan Texas