Bogus Lies (and) Ordinary Greatness

I started, what I call, articlulate writing years and years ago. Some of it was free associate writing, automatic writing, or what ever you chose to call it. It was, and still is, a fun outlet for me. Some of it, no one has ever read before. A lot of it .... maybe nobody should...


Showing posts with label Tim Uhr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tim Uhr. Show all posts

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Boring is Bad


B O R I N G     I S      B A D


One has to be a pupil before one can teach. But that doesn’t mean that once one becomes a teacher they stop learning. These processes usually go hand in hand. Show me a teacher that has stopped learning, and I would recommend for one of his pupils to take his pulse, I assume it would be found that he has been dead for the last few years. If he were a music teacher, I would ask his students to restrain from making any deadbeat remarks, or if he runs the school paper the journalist better not make any deadline comments. The teacher is always learning because of outside influences; books, newspapers, T.V., radio, and also people smarter than the teacher. The process of teacher-pupil is a two-way thing. The teacher can actually learn something from his students? Of course! It doesn't necessarily have to be about the subject he teaches, but about behavior and attitudes at the very least. But does it stop here? Of course not! There are many things a teacher can learn from his students. He soon finds out that a homework paper is a dog’s favorite food. He learns that it was much more fun to be a student than it is to be a teacher. He learns many things. Sometimes even about his own specialty. Of course not! (Oh, sorry…  I was getting sort of used to saying that…)
Some of us will never learn. Some seem to never lose hope. There are still people who have never heard of Murphy's Law. Others, though they have heard of it either don't believe it, or don't see the sense in it. These people are lawbreakers.
It’s not a good idea to make Mr. Murphy unhappy by breaking his law. This is a very serious crime. Lack of negative thinking is an epidemic that is ruining our society. Although when there is a lot of negativeness around, it makes me almost look positive, and I wouldn’t want to be known as a Pollyannist. Still, I think it’s an obligation to be firm with these laws.
We should have separate jails for Murphy's Law breakers. Or maybe we can stuff them on the shuttle and leave them on the moon.
If this becomes practice (and it probably will since I mentioned it), I think I'm going to break the law of Mr. Murphy so that I can ride aboard the shuttle. While a ride on the shuttle is not worth the sacrifice of having to spend the rest of my life on the desolate moon, I figure it is worth the chance of trying to take over the flight and change courses. Success would mean spending the rest of my life on one of the sunny Venusian beaches.
I really do need to take a trip. A long trip. Maybe around the world; or at least around the block. Maybe if I just walked around the room a few times.
I need change… I have a dollar, but I want a gumball. That's the way life is; you can have more or less than you want, but never exactly what you want. Like that old ancient saying goes:
"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you get what you need."
Was it John Wayne or Mick Jaeger who said that?


"The grass is always greener on the side of the fence without the dogs…"
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, unless you're a bird watcher."
                 Sayings from the book of Rhumit.

Actually I could never leave my humble abode (be it ever so humble.) I am truly a homebody, or is that a homely body?...
Change can be upsetting, disorienting, and yet unavoidable. In school I hated changing classes between periods, even when I was leaving classes I hated. I like my moods evened out throughout the course of a day. If I start out feeling miserable at the start of a day I would just as soon stay miserable throughout the rest of the day. I hate up and down days, like school used to be — good class, bad class, good class… I hate that! Why can't the educators even things out by making everything either all good or all bad. I would prefer not to have them all be somewhere in-between, because that would be too boring. It's fun to cry about how much you hate something, or even, once in awhile, exclaim how you enjoy something. But what's there to say about something that's average? And I don't mean average in the way the critics use the term, when they say a movie or play was average, they really mean to say it was bad. Because after almost every movie a critic rates as average, he or she strings out a long list of shortcomings. Now you know, that after so much interjection and thought going onto ways to tear someone apart, he or she must have had fun.
The way you can really tell a movie is average is when it is just called "average," and there is nothing else. There is nothing to say about something that is really average. So average is boring, worse than bad, and even worse than good. It leaves you with nothing to reminisce upon. Nothing to sharpen your claws, and polish your verbal expletives on.
How about the average teacher? Does the average teacher really do more harm than good? The average teacher bores his students and leaves them with nothing to say, so they go away empty, which many of our children do today. This empty is bad. Sometimes empty can be good, because it is usually the want of mankind to fill anything that's empty. Empty is incompleteness. As the young person steps out into the world, empty of experience, sometimes this rawness, this emptiness, leads to bold intentions and radical conclusions. Before the mind is shaped in conventional ways, this is the time when all great geniuses make their most significant gifts to mankind. When the mind is full of traditional rationale, no new abstract thinking will tend to enter. It's in the process of filling that mind when all the great revelations occur. In this manner, it is usually the young mind, the empty mind, which is the best. The young mind cannot fall back on past experiences and so does not readily fall into the ruts of conventional thinking. If that young mind happens to be that of a genius, then it can lead to uncharted territory and break-through for the enlightenment of all mankind.
But a bored mind, empty or full, can only lead to stagnation. Education is not a joy to the student of an average teacher, so although that student may possess the potential skills to make that bold step to a level higher than the typical person, he never feels the urge to, that hungry desire that is so necessary has not been honed. If a hungry child, bored with the daily feedings of oatmeal, had a choice between eating oatmeal or going to bed hungry, I would pick a short bedtime story. Bored minds lose their hunger for knowledge.
You might say a bad teacher can only be worse. He leaves students with a bitter taste in their mouths. But herein lies the difference between bad and average; when something has left you with no taste, you don't search for that experience again. In this same way, the bored mind no longer searches for more knowledge. But how long would that same person leave a bad taste in their mouth? Most likely they will search for something to eradicate that bad taste. A pupil who has had a bad experience in class is left frustrated, angry – with a bad taste in his mouth. After a while he looks for something to change that frustration, search for something to rid his mouth of that bitter taste. The only thing that can change his distorted or misguided knowledge is clear insight into more reliable knowledge. Truth as opposed to lies, but the teacher doesn't have to lie to be unfit, better yet-- enlightenment as opposed to confusion. When the mind is confused it searches for logical paths to sort out the confusion and make sense of small parts of the total picture, even if the picture, as a whole, is incomprehensible. The student might take it a bit slower the next time around, sorting information bit by bit, instead of in confusing lumps. But for him there will be a next time.
Most people, when turned off by a religion or even diocese will go find another and not just give up on God, knowing that it’s the frailties of man that can distort the views of the big picture, even when the big picture itself has never changed.
The divorcee is always most vulnerable to another romance right after the separation. Is that because the divorcee is looking for another bad experience? Of course not, but they are looking to right a wrong. When you've had a bad love affair you search desperately for a good one.
But wouldn't it be best to have that original love be good? Isn't the same true for teachers?
Teachers are all-important. Even when they are on strike they are teaching... They have a direct hand upon our future. Teaching is more important for us than anything else, for it is what separates us from the insects. It is what led us to the present day, modern world. The building of knowledge through teaching. I don't need to be an Einstein to use his equations, because they were taught to me. I didn't have to try to work them out myself with an inferior mind to that of Mr. Einstein. I didn't have to invent and design my typewriter to be able to make use of it, either did the company who made it. That knowledge was passed down to them, leaving room and time for them to make improvements on the original and thus making a better product. The automobile is the classic example of an accumulation of many individual inventions all put together into one package that without any one of the many would not lead to the same final product.
Teaching doesn't start in the classroom (At least not in Strongsville.) From the moment a child is born he is learning and being taught and influenced by everyone around him. His brain is forming and growing from the start. Even the best teacher can only do so much when there is no cooperation from home. Parents should be aware of what
goes on inside their children's school and classes. Parents should take heed in pointing out the fact that they believe a teacher to be bad. This doesn’t mean that they should automatically take the child’s side, because many times today I see the parents defending their child’s bad behavior and this only teaches their child that bad behavior is acceptable. The parents have much more influence over their children than can one “bad” teacher can have. Let them know that there are good teachers out there, and help guide them when they most need to have a good experience in education. I think a good teacher is delighted to have parents take a constructive interest in their children's learning.
And if a teacher is boring your child, rescue him from the sea of tranquility (No – Don’t send him to the moon!) but show him that learning can be a wonderful, almost magical, experience. Learning can be fun. Otherwise mankind would have never made it this far.
Teach your children well …   (Please don’t Nash your teeth Mr. Graham)


Sincerely,   
èim  Uhr



P.S. A single cell in the brain may have
        direct contact with 1,000 others. A
        single teacher reaches 1,000's of
        young minds …







Wednesday, March 20, 2013

A Day in The Life


A DAY I N THE L I F E

I am listening to the radio, trying to write. I remember how unsuccessful that has been for me in the past, so I turn it off…
God, the silence is killing me…
I lean back on my chair, carefully so as to prevent the tablet from falling off my knee. The distant sound of a barking dog and the infrequent passing of cars, echoes in my head. I can hear an indistinct ringing. Not sure if it's church bells or in my head, I block the sound out. The dog continues to bark…
The smell of oil penetrates my nostrils from the oil heater at my feet. Thank god it also penetrates my bones and gives me momentary warmth and protection from the cold.
If there is such great warmth in Hell, then is heaven frigid?
There are two table lamps in the room I occupy, for in this room no overhead light exists. I write in shadows, as the light from these lamps barely succeed in chasing away the darkness.
I like the light…
I thought I could hear the wind rustling through the rafters, but it's just another passing car. I wonder what it would be like to be in that car. Though I cannot see the street below me, I wish I was a passenger in that car I hear moving by, living in his or her world – a world that I will never know or have a chance to understand.
Would that dog please shut-up!
I look at the typewriter on my desk in front of me, smiling at its presence. I think of all the work involved in first writing everything in longhand, half printing and half writing, only to later two finger type it all over on a fresh piece of paper. What a waste! I don't mind the time involved, I just hate to see another fresh, clean piece of paper dirtied… What a waste. Maybe I should start using my computer. But the dust has settled nicely on it and I hate to disturb it.
The blackness that engulfs my soul comes out by way of words and spreads out to cover and taint a nice white piece of paper in the form of black. From white to a slowly growing blackness filling the page. Words defecating on the pristine white of the page, changing it forever
Maybe I should change my font color to red, or something more happy…
It's a shame that there aren't more outlets in this room so I could plug in all my lamps. It's a shame there aren't more outlets in my life so I could put to use a head-full of ideas. I can barely afford to allow two of the plugs for lamps, I need my typewriter and radio, for I am running out of sockets. My radio is off and I'm not using the typewriter, but to exchange plugs on a temporary basis, just for another couple of lights, would only be extra work.
I get tired even thinking about it.
I am glad that dog has stopped barking.
The heat from the burner feels good on my body, just as the light feels good to my eyes. I gaze upon the masses of books about, most of which are scattered allover the floor. The biggest and heaviest of the hardbacks are presently being used to straighten out a crinkled poster in the middle of the floor. I think it's a picture of mass nudes on a beach, but I'm not sure, seeing as it has been a long time since I had last seen it. It takes a long time to straighten out wrinkles in a poster unless you could bend them in the opposite direction for a period of time. But I am in no hurry and I don't mind things a bit wrinkled, a little bent out of shape.
I wonder if there is snow outside. These past days have been so cold. Running the heater continuously is a temptation, but then I would need a steady flow of oil…
Then there is the matter of the smell…
Even after getting up to look out the window, I still cannot tell if there is snow. Even the small amount of light the two lamps shed make the windows look like mirrors, so the wall behind me is all I see when I look out. I notice that the dog has not barked for quite some time as I listen to another car whizzing past. I imagine the zagged tire marks he leaves in the imaginary snow. I'm sure the snow covers those tracks before he can see them in his rear-view mirror. No one will ever know he has been down this street.
Possibly the dog has stopped his incessant barking because he has escaped and found his way to the street… the car… in such a hurry…
I have a globe in this room. The Earth. Smooth. Mostly blue. I look at it and wonder at all the water. So much water, and I – never to have seen an ocean. The land has freckles, spotted with names and bumps, but the water is smooth and a consistent blue, with fewer words written on it. The words and the land dirtying the perfection of the blue. It's a nice globe, except for the land and the writing…

I wish I would turn back on my radio, but I know I really don't want to. It's funny how my radio just sits there next to my filing cabinet, in which this article will also sit upon completion. God knows when that will be! I know that if I were to open that top drawer of my filing cabinet all the way it would topple over, probably on my radio, which really wouldn't matter because I bet if that cabinet fell it would crash right through the floor, taking me and everything else in the room with it. My own private sink hole. The top drawer is the heaviest, mostly filled with supplies. If only I would keep the heavier things in the bottom drawer there would not be the fear of it falling over. I wish it could be better arranged but that's the way things go. Some day I will learn. I hear floors are expensive.
The football pennants and the posters in this room give it a sort of presence. The various posters have a pretty wide range of topics and scenes. From spaceships to oceans and other worlds, from kittens to feathered friends, and robots and lasers to baseball players and fields. Life to death.
I would like to see if there is snow outside, but I dare not turn out the lights so I can see out. I notice a slight headache as I look to the time on my watch. I can almost hear it ticking, but I can't hear that dog that's always barking. Time doesn’t really tick, it ebbs.
I close my eyes, feeling a bit funny, but not abnormal.
If I felt fine – I wouldn’t pay it. If I felt more funny – I wouldn’t laugh. If I felt… If only… I… felt.
My stomach is about ready for a beer or two as it's about time for me to get ready to go out for the night.
I wonder what I'll do tonight?


                                                                                 ‘Til Later,
       èim  Uhr


                                    P.S: Maybe I'll see you tonight…
                                           Bet you won't recognize me.




Silence and I                        Should I let it show?




               Secrets









Monday, January 21, 2013

The Fair Path


The Fair Path

Have you ever been alone in a crowd before?
More precisely, I should ask, have you ever felt alone in a crowd? A buzz all around that somehow goes past or around you, never quite sinking in. Smiles, conversations, jokes, eye contact – that never reach you. You feel invisible at best – shunned at worst.
You may want to run, but there is nowhere to go.
You must move away from this uncomfortable state. There must be a change.
There are two possible roads ahead.
You feel like a boulder rolling down a hill when you come to a fork. All the difference is ahead.
One path is within. The other path is without.
One option is to move outwards. To reach out. To force the situation. To attempt to becoming a part of without the need for an invitation. To take a risk. Stepping out from oneself. To extend a hand, an opinion, a thought – with the knowledge that it may be turned away from, shunned, unwanted, rejected. To take the risk of being a fool, a busy body, obnoxious. The geek trying to break into the click. To expand the bubble around yourself to include others. To open up and be vulnerable. To risk appearing stupid or a social misfit. Trying to gain friendship at the possible consequence of garnering distain.
The reward for this path is you may become part of the buzz. One with the crowd. Known and no longer invisible.
The possible downside is that you are no longer invisible and now all your flaws and awkwardness is out in the open for all to see. Perhaps you don’t fit in and never will. Perhaps being invisible is the best you can do, the most you can hope for.
"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." – Abraham Lincoln.

Then there is the other path. The other direction. Instead of turning outwards in the hope of a connection, you can go inwards. Turning away from the trappings of the outside world. Moving toward self. To focus your attention to what’s inside. Your feelings and thoughts. To delve into your beliefs and emotions, to circle downwards deep into your personal cave. Trying to find you center and what makes you tick. What makes you unique. Searching for love of self and a deep inner respect. To find that place of knowing, that space of oneness. To seek the stillness, to explore through meditation.
The reward for this path, this direction, is pure radiance of being. Knowing that nothing can really hurt your pure essence. You are all. You will find that needs are merely flights of fantasy that we create out of the nothingness of fear. All is within and all is love.
The downside of this path is that sometimes when we go within we can spiral down and around until it becomes a narcissistic exercise. Self-worth somehow turns into self-importance. "We are one" becomes we are the one.
Sometimes seeing the beauty, weakness, and perfection in another is also the quickest way to seeing it within. Yes, somehow seeing the weakness in ourselves and in others becomes important. For it is only when we can see and come to terms with weakness and realize that they are just blocks, barriers to cover perfection. All weaknesses melt away in the light of true examination. Many times this is easier to see in others than in ourselves. Deep secrets become antidotes when the weight of darkness is lifted off.
Many times it is easier to move beyond judgment toward another than it is to do the same for ourselves.

So in the end I believe it’s the contemplative blend of reflective searching within and the reaching out, and shining out of our light towards the outside world in the hopes of connection that is our most beneficial and should be our ultimate goal.
Understanding ourselves and understanding others is a chicken or egg type of scenario.
Instead of asking which came, or should come, first – perhaps the real road to enlightenment comes from the realization that one cannot survive without the other. For if all is truly one… then there is no difference.


                                                           Sincerely signing off,

 

                                                                                             ò im Uhr


P.S. Again I am always playing the middleman. Walking the fence. Looking for that middle path. I usually end up in the ditch of the embankment that separates the two paths…




                                  Spiritual Path

  
                                                                         Path of thorns





Sunday, October 28, 2012

Answers to life's questions


I Thought I would take a moment to answer a few Emails here.

(Keep in mind my email is static – I’m not always sure if the email response is to my Blog or my Website… or it’s just spam that I like to keep as personal mail just so I have think I have more than I really do.)



Question: How many words are in Moby Dick?
Answer: Well, I got to the end of the book and was at 212,002 when I hiccupped and lost my place… so maybe it’s just a little more than that. And no, don’t worry, I’ll never write anything that long. Just remember War and Peace is more than 550,000 words.

Q: How long have you been crazy?
A: I have never officially been diagnosed as being crazy. It’s just a place I sometimes like to go, especially in my writing. It’s a nice place to visit but I ….

Q: How much of this stuff is the truth you write?
A: What really is truth?  All my writing is totally true – most of it is just based in an alternate reality that has nothing to do with this one.

Q: My husband is divorcing his wife – do I still have to have contact with her?
A: Huh? That doesn’t seem to make any sense. Let me think for a moment.
(One moment later…) The answer is no. I think if she’s divorcing, then she has to leave the harem.

Q: I went to your website and on your favorite page –the music – are you kidding me? It’s dizzying! What is really your favorite style or artist?
A: Well, actually you should be a little more dizzy. I really don’t have much Classical or Jazz there, and those are two areas of music that I have embraced in the past (as well as New Age and Spirituality).
But as far as my ultimate favorite style, it would have to be alternative. And my favorite group would be The Cure.
But I grew up on early Elton John and I still think he is the King( ), even if his more recent stuff feels so watered down.
Of course it goes without saying that the Beatles are the ultimate group and an influence on everything else.
Then groups like Supertramp, Alan Parsons, the Moody Blues, and Klaatu raised me to levels that made everyday life seem mundane by comparison. While, at times, Klaatu can be a bit campy – that is part of their fun and their message. I still think that Klaatu’s second album “Hope” is one of the best ever. Abby Road (Beatles), Captain Fantastic (Elton John), Wish (Cure), 1st Album (Jars of Clay), Crime of the Century (Supertramp) are some more off the top of my head. There are many I am leaving out…
Lately I’ve been listening to “Minus the Bear” from a recommendation from the great Alternative Press.
I believe that music is the backdrop to life…

Q: All your links! I never know what to click on or where they’re going. It drives me crazy! How about a better idea of where the links are and what’s going to come up when I click on something?
A: I love to be the driving force of your craziness. I just hope to provide a scenic journey.
\We all need to be a little more crazy/

crazy...

If you want me to keep updating you on your questions here just keep sending me more Email.

Feel free to follow me, although I realize that you have to be nuts to follow a blind squirrel.  (Maybe that’s why he never finds any nuts, because they’re always following behind him)



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Monday, October 15, 2012

Penmanship of fools


This is  a rough continuation of last months piece...

Costly Pen


What did one balloon say to the other balloon?
"The rising cost of living is killing me!"
Ha, Hal But inflation is no laughing matter. I can’t believe the way prices have been rising. Even yeast keeps going up and up.
Inflation is out of hand, I know. I was just into this discount store, which used to be a little dime store the last time I was there. I went to purchase some pens. Five or so years ago I bought ten pens in this same store, when it was a dime store.
We used to have dime stores, and now our “big discount” stores are dollar stores. That’s an inflation rate of 1000%!
So after running low on ink I took some money and entered the store expecting to buy more pens. But I couldn’t find that ten pen for a dollar special they had last time. And this time I was smart enough to bring a dollar and five cents, the five cents extra for tax, which I managed not to have the last time. Then I had gotten past by telling the counter girl I would bring the five cents next time. But this time I still ran into trouble again. My ten pens for a dollar special was nowhere to be found. So I looked around for six or so pens, anticipating paying fifty cents, hence enabling me to buy two sets. But the cheapest bargain I could find was one pen for fifty-three cents, and even these pens had ink seeping out their backs and were half out of ink. Subtract from this the half of the ink that always ends up on my hands and I would be getting a quarter of pen’s ink to put to use. This didn’t sound like a deal to me. So I went up to the stock boy, who was marking prices, and asked him about the ten pen special. I don’t know if I forgot to wipe the toothpaste off of my mouth that morning or what, because he just laughed at me. 1 was not in a humorous mood.
In my anger I finally found a decent pen for a buck and stormed up to the checkout line. I placed the pen down and handed my dollar and five cents to the lady, somewhat older than the girl who was here last time, I would guess by about five or so years.
She reached out for my money, gazing deeply into my eyes, and for a minute I thought it was love at first sight when she said, "Haven't I seen you before?"
I got all choked up, but before I could say something witty like, "Um… no, I don't think so, I usually dress with my shades pulled down," she barked out "That'll be One dollar and seven cents!"
I handed her my dollar and nickel, not fully in control of my senses. I was busy contemplating what style wedding ring she would prefer, as her voice rang in my head, and I did not hear the words, just the melody.
"You’re two cents short," she said as I started to come back to reality.
I managed a muffled, "Wha ... " as the ring for her finger seemed to be growing in size.
She looked somewhat upset. "That's One dollar and seven cents — seven cents tax, and you only gave me One Dollar and five cents!" she spat out, her enunciation very clear even through her spittle. “I need another two cents.”
I could see the ring I planned to give her in my dreams WAS growing. It was taking the shape of a noose and coming for my head, I knew that only quick talking and a little luck could save me now.
"Bu… But I don't… " I stammered in my most suave turn of phrase, as my hands dug deep into my empty pockets, feeling only the lint there. I prayed for a lot of luck.
"Wait a minute... " she said with an air of recognition, "Now I remember. Five years ago you were short five cents on a pack of ten pens special."
She reached over the cash register and pushed buttons for what seemed to be an eternity. "That'll be seven more cents please." she smiled.
I carefully reached my hand up to the counter…
"And you can't get away this time by saying you'll bring the money tomorrow because today is my last day ... " she rambled on…
...1 grabbed hold of the pen with trembling fingers and took off in a full sprint for the exit. I ran through three security guards and a cop in the street as a crazed lady screamed bloody murder behind me.
"Stop thief! Help! Police! A robbery, help!” she wailed on.
I gave the policeman a straight-arm as I headed out the door, kicking the gun from his hand as he pulled it from his belt. I shoved the pen into my pocket and ran off down the street. People were chasing and hollering, dogs were barking and sirens were wailing as I made a clean get-a-way.
I never stopped running until I was into my house and safe from pursuers. I plopped down on the nearest chair and pulled out my "hot" pen. I had paid A dollar and five cents for a pen that had let-loose during the chase, and now my pocket was stained with wet ink. Well, black goes with anything. Good thing it wasn’t a blue pen. Even the drops that fell upon my white pants really don’t look too bad. 
This was a pen that I had risked life and limb for as I ran from the law in a narrow escape. I made it, but the pen didn't.
And to think now I had to go back to that store to demand a refund for the defective pen.
I tried the pen anyways and it at least writes (as you can see), though most of its insides are still in my pocket.
So not knowing how long this pen will last will force me to keep my hands clean and save and scrape until I can gather together enough money to be able to go back to that store to purchase another pen (the lady did say it was her last day). So I keep my fingers crossed, hoping the pen will hold out, and I'll make my articles as short as possible to try to save ink. So I would end it here ... but I still have so much to say. The story goes on, how I wish it did end here.
I went to bed that night dreaming of murderers and car thieves. I hardly was able to get any sleep what with all that running.
And it wasn't until late this morning, after I was up for over an hour, that I finally got fully awoke when I opened up my mail. I found a letter from "that" store with a credit card in it.
A pamphlet also came with the letter, describing all the great uses of my new "Super Card" and ways to spend more money with it.
The smile faded, rather quickly, from my face when a small piece of paper fell from the envelope. As I bent to pick it up I could see that it was a bill.
Yes, seven cents was charged to my account. But then I noticed the total due at the bottom and that smile that left me before came back… upside down.
"There must be some mistake!" I thought aloud.
I waited for an answer, but didn’t know what to say…
I owed three dollars and fifty-eight cents! I went for my coat, psyching myself up to go back to that store to demand an explanation for that extra three dollars and fifty-one cents.
Then I noticed that the total did add up to three dollars and fifty-eight cents! It was a good thing I had noticed this before I marched back down to that store and made a fool of myself.
Sure, they were only charging me seven cents from the other day. But then there is the tax on that seven cents, which brings the total up to eight cents. The other three dollars and fifty cents is for the service charge.



                                                  A credit to be yours,

èim  Uhr



P.S:
Now I don't have to worry about having the correct change when I go to that          store. I can always charge my pens. 







Credit???    
           Are pens a Major purchase?