Shameful Memory

We got a phone call tonight from our computer guy that looks after our wireless hook-up to the internet thing-a-ma-jig. I think it's called a router.

I get stressed when dealing with computer problems.
Sometimes there's more problems in their slim-lined brains than a teenaged girl with PMS on Prozac.
I am talking about the computer, not the technician.
Just wanted to be clear!

Anyway, talking to this guy brought me back a few years ago when I was dealing with yet another computer issue.
I had called him and asked him to come out for a home visit so that he could investigate the innards of the big beige box that sits on our floor.
He came over and was quite efficient and quickly solved the inner technical difficulties of the big beige box. ( I did think the box had been looking quite pale...maybe I should have been slapping it regularly...you know...to give it some color!)

But to describe the technician:
He was definately young, definately tall, definately efficient, and definately professional.

A few days later, I got a print out detailing the problems that he had fixed, along with a bill for his services, and I was pleased with the price...seemed fair for the efforts that he exerted to fix old beige paleface.

Now this is where the shame comes in...

So, it was time to pay the bill.
I went to the bank. ( so far so good.)
I took out cash. (still good.)
I counted out the bills,
I counted out the correct change...
96 cents worth to be exact...( good. )

And then I put it all into a clear, flimsy, with the ziploc top, no-name brand

LITTLE PLASTIC BAGGIE (hmmm...oh dear...)

AND GAVE IT TO HIM (yikes...not good!)

IN PERSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (oh, the shame...I can't believe I did that! who pays bills this way???)

He was speechless.
He held up the little plastic baggie by the top right corner, wiggled it and listened to all 96 cents of change jangling, and winked.
I blushed.
Then ran away.
True story.

Signed, shamed.