In a previous post I mentioned how my Dad carries around a tape recorder. The tape recorder is used to record the cartoons, because inspiration can strike anywhere. So the cartoons go onto a microcassette tape, but what happens to those tapes? And there are a lot of tapes!
Ill tell you what happens, they get used, filled up, taken out and go to microcassette tape heaven. AKA a safety deposit box at Wells Fargo.
That’s right, the place where you keep your jewels, your passport and your naked photos of that congressman is where I keep hundreds of cassette tapes.
Recently I‘ve been going to Wells Fargo to retrieve the ratty tapes and record them into my computer. And since I only take a couple tapes at a time, I’ve been going back often. So I love to imagine what the Wells Fargo people are thinking I’m doing in there. It’s one of the few times in my impoverished life that I feel a sense of entitlement. You have to be escorted to the back of the bank there, they ask for your special keys and lead you into a secure room to do your business. I imagine the other bank customers glaringly staring at the back of my head as I am lead behind secured bulletproof glass, imagining I have to retrieve gold and large notes and stocks. And they are so jealous, like WHO is this girl?! Is she a Kennedy or Onasis? OR the embodiment of Jacquelin Kennedy Onasis? But never in the entire world do they imagine I am going to get dinky little casset tapes to put in a ziplock baggie. I strut out, putting on my aires like I’ve just been crowned queen.
