Props to Harry
I believe it was 1994. I’d moved out of a house I shared with a guy when the business I’d started in the spare bedroom got some steam. I’d failed at two others, but this, I sensed, was quite different. While it had to be worked and attended to like anything, it just wasn’t hard, not too hard. That was a lesson to me I took to heart. When something seems too hard, it’s probably because it’s too hard. Perseverance can be a double-edged sword and procrastination can be a virtue.
I was only concerned with what I was doing. Zero concern to legal structures, licenses, all that stuff. At some point, I got a letter from the City of San Jose. Seems I had not gotten a business “license,” euphemism for a $90 tax. It wasn’t that I cared so much about $90. It was just the indignity of it for one, the distraction, primarily.
I ignored it. Put the letters in the trash. Soon enough, I got phone calls from a guy. I returned every one. At 12:30pm when he’s predictably be at lunch break; and I left a voice mail. After 3 or 4 of these exchanges, he quit calling, I never got a “business license,” and ever since, going on 20 years, have been shitcanning all notices I get in the mail.
That includes notices for jury duty. Never served, every notice has gone in the trash and I’m nobody’s slave. Ask nicely, you’ll have my attention…because I really would love to lie about my intentions to get on a criminal drug case jury, then monkey-wrench it if there’s no harm (jury nullification). Once, I got a notice about ignoring the jury notice and what sorts of penalties and fines I was in for. That, too, went in the trash. Nothing came of it.
The lesson? I want them to go after all you hand wringing volunteers, instead. You please keep them busy for me, OK? Thanks. Kisses. I have better things to do with my one and only life.
In the end, until you are personally served by a real person or sign for certified mail, it’s all trash. And I advise you to never open the door to someone you don’t expect or know, and never accept certified mail. Make them come arrest you.
…I got something or other official looking from some “Lawrence” guy with some title for the county in the mail today. I read half a paragraph of 4 or 5 for fun, tossed it in the shit can, smiled, and then moved my fingers on this keyboard.