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Mortimer Snert and the Horny Canadians

It was a sectoral day in the neighbourhood when Mortimer Snert (who might have been a little bit bored at the time) was surfing around on the eBay looking at vintage audio devices, and stumbled quite across an Altec Lansing 811 series sectoral horn. One which was an exact match to the one which he owned, and which was perched precariously atop an equally vintage A-5 Voice of the Theater cabinet. Now Mort was a collector of ancient electrical equipment, and also a former employee of the former audio giant Altec Lansing, and being such, decided that the opportunity to have a matching set of horns of this nature was too much of an opportunity to pass up. So he purchased the lone horn. From a Canadian. In Ontario, to be exact. Now it did not occur to him that this act might pose a small bit of a problem, since this occurred shortly after terrorists blew up half of New York City. So the transaction was completed, and the Canadian told him how much the thing was. In Canadian dollars. Now this should have not posed a problem. The guy should know how much things were worth in Canadian. So completely undaunted, Mort headed off to the bank to get a money order.

Arriving at his oh so helpful bank, he proceeded to the teller and asked for a money order for the equivalent of $150 Canadian, which caused the teller to immediately crap a big pile of cinder blocks. Sideways. They didn’t do Canadian money. Drawing upon his vast store of patience, Mort reminded the teller that he did not want Canadian money. He wanted an American money order in American money with the equivalent value of $150 CDN. Rolling her eyes, the teller lady reminded him that they did not do Canadian money. Or American money. Or American/Canadian money. Or much else, for that matter, except be stupid asses. So they directed him to another local bank, which specialized in things of that nature.

After driving across town and entering the second bank, Mort headed directly to the teller lady and presented the same request. They sent him to Customer Service, where he repeated the action. These guys could get a Canadian money order, but it would have to come from Kansas City. And it would take 2 weeks. Very patiently, Mort reminded them that he did not want a Canadian money order. He wanted an American money order. For the equivalent of $150 CDN. They couldn’t do that. They couldn’t even get Canadian paper money. Nobody in town could. Unless they ordered it from Kansas City. In 2 weeks. They suggested yet another bank that might specialize in foreign money exchange. Mort went there. They didn’t do Canadian money orders. Not that he asked for one. Not that he had ever even asked for one. Not that he even seriously ever freaking wanted one.

At the next bank, Mort encountered a teller with an I.Q. of somewhere in excess of 2 below plant life, and finally got her to understand that what he wanted was a money order for the American equivalent of $150 CDN. So she goes to the exchange rate thingy (through some magical process, she was accessing a Wyse terminal) and pokes around on a calculator, and informs Mort that it will be $196 American for a $150 CDN money order. Drawing yet again on his quickly depleting reserve of patience, he very calmly tries to explain that this could not be correct, as American money is worth more than Canadian money. And with one of those looks that only people specific to this particular town could muster up, the teller chicky says, like, yeah, that’s why it’s $196 American. While he was in the midst of an explanation of economics and foreign exchange rates with the teller, her supervisor appeared on the scene, having observed this hippy type person who was waving his arms and talking loudly to one of her tellers. And they went through the whole we don’t do Canadian money bit again. Finally Mort got through to the supervisor, who accessed the magical Wyse terminal, poked the calculator, and told him that it would be somewhere between $66 and $67 American, but she wasn’t really sure exactly how much because the exchange thingy only went from American to Canadian, not from Canadian to American. At this point, Mort was quite beside himself. These bastards worked at a bank, for Christ Sake, they should be able to figure this out. So as calmly as he could manage, he asked for a money order for $70 American, figuring he would be on the safe side, and the Canadian guy could have a few extra $ just for being a nice guy. They asked him if he had an account there. Which he did not. They could not sell money orders to people who did not have an account there unless they charged them $10 extra. Even with cash. It was at this point in time that Mort’s vast reserve of patience came to an abrupt end, and describing explicit acts that the bank people could perform on themselves, he beat a hasty retreat, just as the supervisor was calling the cops. Fortunately for Mort, the cops took forever to get anywhere, and by the time they arrived, he was long gone, heading for the post office, which was his last resort.

Arriving at the post office, he found that there was nobody in line, and taking this to be a good omen, proceeded to the counter where he was met by one of the ever so friendly and efficient postal employees. Taking a deep breath, Mort asks for a money order. No problem, says the post office feller. How much? Another deep breath, and he tells the post office guy that he needs one for however much the American equivalent of $150 CDN is. The guy looks at Mort in disbelief. Mary Macdonald’s husband looks at Mort in disbelief. All the employees behind the counter look at Mort in disbelief. The guys in line look at Mort in disbelief. They can’t do that. Mort should go home and find the exchange rate and figure out how much it would be for the money order, and come back and tell them how much it is, and they would sell him one.

It was at this point that Mort began to seriously question his sanity. Why in the Hell did he not look this up on the internet before he started this whole preposterous adventure? Why would he ever expect a place like a bank to have any idea on foreign exchange rates? Why would he be so stupid as to try this in Enid freaking Oklahoma, of all the godforsaken places to try this in? Having no valid answers for any of these questions, and beginning to have explicit thoughts of unpleasant acts involving rusty wire brushes being applied forcefully to places where rusty wire brushes should never be applied, he went home, hit the Bank of Canada’s website, (which god only knows he would have done in the first place he had any idea of the outcome of the whole stupid episode) discovered the exchange rate, determined that the money order needed to be for $66.02, and calmly headed back to the post office. Only to find the line to the counter was backed up out the door and down the stairs. And he had production in 10 minutes. Which lasted until 5. At which time the post office closed.

Gritting his teeth and resigning himself to having to deal with a life filled with pleasantries like he had just experienced, and realizing that he had just spent the entire afternoon and had accomplished absolutely nothing other than raising his blood pressure significantly and pissing off more than his share of people, Mort headed off to the office. Tomorrow would be another day, and hopefully he would be able to get the $ to the Canadian before he relisted the horn.