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Solid Waste Dept. March 22, 2008 Dear Amarillo Landfill, I believe you have my paperclip. It is the most important paperclip in the world. It is of dire importance that this paperclip is returned to me. It is made of aluminum. It is silver. It is curved and bendy and clips papers together. “Son,” my great-grandfather said to me just before he died, “take care not to lose this paperclip. It is a family heirloom. Back in the Great Depression,” [here I skip over two hours of relentless storytelling] “…and this paperclip was all I had to my name. It is symbolic of the struggles of the human condition, and also it clips papers pretty well if you ever have a bunch of loose papers that need to be clipped together in a specific order.” Ever since he handed me that little piece of metal, I’ve carried it around with me everywhere. That brings me to the primary vein of my letter, which is to implore you to recover my paperclip for me. My uncle’s second cousin died of a heart attack, and also from being run over by a bicycle marathon, last week in Amarillo, and I traveled down there for the funeral. When I changed into my suit I set the paperclip on my hotel nightstand, but when I returned it was gone! Believe me, I scoured the depths of every trash bag in the hotel, sometimes barging in on people taking a shower or committing certain acts. The bellhop, the bellboy, the bell-ringer, and the bellerina told me there weren’t any paperclips in the hotel. How could they be so sure? The concierge said the last time he saw a paperclip was February 18, but it was red. The paperclip, I suddenly realized, had been sent to the local landfill! I recovered from my faint to two hotel maids fanning me with their feather dusters and splashing Lysol in my face. “Where am I?” I demanded. “Argentina?” But alas, it was still the hotel I had collapsed in, and my paperclip was forever gone. This is where you come in! I am back in New Jersey, 10,600 miles away, and the fate of my beloved family heirloom is in your hands. I swear by all that is sacred to me that I will greatly reward you for finding it in your landfill: I will pay you in thousands of other paper clips, or even those black plastic mega-clips, or even money, but I will not mention the last unless you are not satisfied with the black plastic clips. Alas! I am ruined without my aluminum heirloom! Please find it for me!
Sincerely,
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My letter was returned "not deliverable as addressed." Now where am I going to look for my paperclip? Wait a second... it wasn't Amarillo that I stayed in, but in Hutto, TX! I just remembered! |
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Williamson County Landfill April 9, 2008 Dear Williamson County Landfill, A landfill is a big place! That’s why it’s going to be hard to find my paperclip. I will describe it to you: silver, bendy, holds papers together… oh, it’s no use! Most paperclips are identical! I wish this one had been blue with tiny lizards printed all over it. Then it would have been salient among the rest. But I must recover this family heirloom! My great-grandfather gave it to me and told me not to lose it for my life. It was the only thing he had to his name during the Great Depression. Now it’s lost! There is still a sliver of hope for me, though. I tried contacting the Amarillo Landfill about my paperclip but my letter was returned “not deliverable as addressed.” I broke down and cried! But then it hit me: I stayed in Hutto, not Amarillo, to attend my uncle’s second cousin’s funeral! My uncle’s second cousin was a prominent carp salesman who moonlighted as a forensic pathologist for fish. He was assassinated late last month in his Hutto mansion by the head of a bicycle marathon committee. I was staying in a nearby hotel, and I must have set my paperclip down in my room (BAD IDEA!!!) before I went to the funeral. When I came back it was gone. One of the maids must have mistaken it for trash. Trust me, I’ve gone down pretty much every road here trying to recover my great-grandfather’s aluminum heirloom. I’ve tried waterboarding the maids but they “don’t know anything.” The concierge says he’s never seen a paperclip in his life. I’ll bet he’s lying. Lying sack of rutabagas! I’ll get the truth out of you! The only place it could be now is the Williamson County Landfill. I need you to look for me. I know there’s a lot of trash there, and much of it is underground and all, but with 3 or 4 guys on the job it should be a cinch. Please consider my predicament. This is not just any old paperclip! If it were I’d just go to the paperclip store and buy a hundred more. By the way, if you come across any money, it’s definitely also mine. I definitely dropped lots of money in the Hutto, TX area.
Sincerely,
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