I open my front door and take a closer look at my visitor. I decide he has modelled his appearance on George Clooney's semi-bearded look. This is pleasing to the eye but doesn't quite have the same impact as Gorgeous George is a six-footer and the delivery man is like Tom Cruise in stature. Somewhere six inches has gone missing.
Still, I'm not one to complain about six inches.
So I smile as he breaks into conversation.
"Would you mind taking in this parcel for your neighbour?"
"Sure." I reply.
The man hands over one of those electronic signature devices where I am supposed to sign for receipt of delivery. For a moment I am perplexed as there is no stylus or pen and I wonder how this device works and then (being super intelligent) I realize I am supposed to sign using...my finger.
I raise my finger and strategically place it on the screen and attempt to sign my name.
I try again. Nothing happens. The screen is blank.
I am perplexed.
I raise my finger and study it. (Yes - I can't believe I did that either.)
What has happened to my finger? It's not working! Why is my magic finger not working? Have I lost my touch? Oh. My. God. My finger is broken!
The deliver man sighs. "You're supposed to use your finger not your fingernail."
I quickly sign my name with as much flourish as possible.
J a n e
The delivery man hands over the parcel.
"Bring back pens," I say and close the door.
|Fingers. I like them and find them pretty handy. However, the next time someone|
asks me to sign something without a pen I know which finger I'll be using. And it won't be the one they're expecting.
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