Having just opened today’s mail, I eyeballed a credit card statement for accuracy before I put it in the queue for payment.
There was a charge I didn’t recognize, from a hotel in which I stayed on a recent business trip. All expenses for the trip had been put on my business card and charged to my client. This one, for $39.77, was a mysterious personal charge.
I called Marriott and was put through to the corporate billing office. When I reached a human being about the charge, which had been tagged “F&B” for food and beverage, the billing clerk and I together determined that the charge was made at the hotel gift shop. This still did not jog my memory.
The clerk delved deeper in to the system.
“Our system shows that you purchased 13 paper items.”
“Paper items,” I questioned myself silently, while staring at the stack of greeting cards that has towered on my desk, neglected and unaddressed, for the last three weeks.
“Oh, those must have been greeting cards,” I remembered aloud.
“Yes,” said the clerk, adding, “and one candy bar.”
Embarrassed, I replied, “Did you have to remind me of that?”
She was not amused. “Would you like me to e-mail you an image of the itemized receipt?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” I huffed back. Now she and whoever monitors the call for security purposes are privy to my greeting card and sugar addictions.
With a little nudge, I remembered the gift shop, I remembered the candy and I remembered the cards. If you have a June or July birthday or anniversary, I have this great card for you. I just need to remember to send it.
The moral of this story had something to do with memory but I can’t for the life of me recall what it was.
Word Nymph 