Quick, amusing story.
Yesterday I went to pick up a parcel at the post office. I'd missed the delivery and now had to bring my ticket to pick it up. The name on the ticket they left was G. Friday.
I paused, and scribbled something down on a piece of paper, laughing at myself for doing so, and slipped the paper in my pocket.
The lineup at the post-office was huge, and it seemed a comedy of errors was taking place before me. Ludicrous conflicts combined with a pleasant but not-so-bright postal employee makes for frustrations. I petted the paper in my pocket, thinking to myself again that it was silly and I wouldn't need it.
I get to the front of the line, take out my driver's license, and the woman retrieves my package. She looks to my license, to the package, and back to me. "How do you know...Ghoul Friday?"
I blink. Really? Really? You were expecting someone to produce I.D. with Ghoul Friday on it to pick this package up? I.D. which, of course, I don't have.
Now I have one of two options: I can try to explain to this person that she is my artist/pen name, and suffer the ridiculousness I'd witnessed in front of me that was suffered by earlier patrons, and hold up the line more, or...or I could pull out the piece of paper that's in my pocket.
I pulled out the piece of paper and put it on the counter.
It read "I give (insert my real name here) permission to pick up my parcel. G. Friday".
I hear myself say "We're business partners."
I watch the woman enter it into the computer and file away the paper.
So, according to the Canadian Postal Service, Ghoul Friday might be a Canadian citizen. And I'm allowed to pick up her mail.