That sucks.

First off — meeting was rockstar. Three hours. Lots of good stuffs. I’m exhausted.

Now, so Keith is finished with his day in casting (awesome) and on his way home, he’s supposed to pick up our new fax machine, plus continue the ever-frustrating search for Swingline Tot 50 staples.

See, I have two Swingline Tot 50 staplers, circa 1975 (so, not exactly as pictured above… much more old-school). Mom bought one in red and one in black. The black one became mine. When she died, and I cleaned out her desk, I brought the red one home to LA to rejoin the black one. I also brought home her one box of staples for it. Since then, I’ve used up her box of staples and the box or two that I had from my stash. I’m down to like 100 or so staples for the Swingline Tot 50. And guess what they don’t make anymore.

Yup.

Well, I *can* buy Swingline Tot 50 staples *if* I buy a crappy, ugly, clunky NEW Swingline Tot 50 stapler, but isn’t that going to get a little silly, at some point? I’ve found some online auctions for them, but that is not a long-term solution. Bummer.

Anyway, Keith has now left the office supply store b/c, in an hour or so of wandering around and trying to spend several hundred dollars (quite a few several, seeing as he was looking for a desk and the new fax machine, which we’d decided would be a really rockstar one this time [y’know, one that replaces the answering machine, caller ID, and cordless phone as well]), he was not being helped. He’s much more patient than I am. I asked if he’d found a manager and he said, “Yeah, I think that’s part of the problem. A dozen customers, a dozen employees. And they’re all actively avoiding contact with us, as we wander around trying to spend our money here.” I said, “COME. HOME. We’ll spend our money elsewhere.” And we shall. Eff them.

Of course, lovely Pisces that he is, he’s gotten in his car, called me to tell me he’s coming home, and then he sees another office supply store, so he pulls in and makes another attempt. Bless his patience. I am my mother’s daughter (read: a hot head about such things) and I have no staples for her stapler.

Bonnie Gillespie is living her dreams by helping others figure out how to live theirs. Wanna work with Bon? Start here. Thanks!