An Ottawa couple recently moved to a nice new suburb of Peterborough, Ont., where they settled down happily enough, except that they never got any mail. Baffled because she had often seen the mailman in the next block, the wife finally phoned the main post office to be told casually that the family mail must be waiting for them at general delivery. “Wasn’t anybody ever going to tell us there’s no delivery on this end of the street?" she asked, a mite miffed, and was told, “Oh yes, I’m sure you must have been sent the regular notice, madam." So down her husband went to general delivery, and there was all their piled-up mail—and there was their notice informing them that due to lack of street delivery they’d have to pick up their mail at the post office. What’s more, the notice, like all the rest of their mail, had been addressed to their street and number, and readdressed to general delivery.
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A fellow, who doesn’t explain whether he’s a school inspector or a chalk salesman, writes us that he recently entered a classroom in the Georgian Bay area of Ontario during a study period. The whole class was diligently studying except one youth who calmly sat there right under the teacher’s eyes, carving his name on a desk top. Then the startled visitor saw that it was a loose desktop lid over the regular desk, and started asking questions. The carver had launched his career by inscribing his name on
a brand-new desk, as a reward for which the principal presented him with the old desk top and told him to carve it up all he wished—in fact he must carve his name on it once a day.
* * *
Flies are hard to come by in the city in wintertime, and if this is a problem that has never bothered you particularly it is a real one for a Toronto family
whose nine-year-old daughter keeps spiders as pets. In fact, her mother got to talking about it at a party a few weeks ago and was properly appreciative when a friend who dwells in the farthest suburbs said there were lots of sleepy old flies around her place and she’d start collecting some as food for the pet spi-
ders. They met again ten days later at another party and the suburbanite asked if the spiders had enjoyed the flies she'd mailed in, only lo hear that none had been received. “But I got your address out of the phone book and ...” she trailed off, listening with a sinking sensation as her friend said no, that was a family by the same name at a different address. “Heavens!” the suburbanite finally got her speech back, “and I just mailed another packet today!”
So somewhere in a great city an innocent family is huddled in a deluge of dead flics, dreading the sound of the postman at the door.
* * *
A farmer out Edgerton, Alta., way gave all his outbuildings a nice fresh coat of red barn paint. Tast on the list was his garage. Finding the paint can still a quarter full when he finished, he decided there was no use letting all that good preservative go to waste so he upped with the pail and slung what was left at the side of the garage. Wasn’t until the next day he
backed his cream-colored car out and
found it had broken out in a rash of red
streaks and polka dots — one for just about every crack and knothole in the garage.
* * *
We’ve heard from a Canadian living in a corner of Scotland where the shops don't offer much of a variety in food, who occasionally sends off a list of tasty items to Harrod’s of London. His last list included "one Hubbard squash," and when the precious package arrived it was suitably large, suitably heavy and packed with the greatest of care. Outside was a sticker reading, “Glass—with care.” Inside was a nest of excelsior and inside of that a large bottle of yellow liquid and a note: “We do not stock Hubbard squash so are substituting Suncrush Orange Squash.”
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