I received some thick, official looking envelope from Canada in the mail the other day from The Ministry of the Attorney General.
I didnít know what the hell it was, but it was certainly like, governmental looking and such so of course I was thinking, ďOh. Shit. What did I do?Ē Then I was all, ďwait a second! I have not been to Canada in years! They canít pin that shit on me!Ē
Then I decided I should probably open the envelope and maybe find out why O, Canada was knocking.
May 4, 2004
Dear Ms. Annfrankenstein:
RE: [insert name of apparently now dead person I do not know]
According to our records, you are now entitled to claim the assets that the Account of the Superior Court of Justice is holding on your behalf.
For your convenience, we have attached the necessary forms for you to claim these assets. Please read instructions carefully before completing the forms.
Any questions or concerns contact our office blah blah blah Ö
[some official Canadian Lady with Very Poofy Handwriting]
Assets? Holy Shit! Canada wants to give me their assets!
I searched all of the enclosed documents but they didnít say a peep about what these ďassetsĒ might be exactly.
What could they be? Who is this dead person? Of what Things Canadian am I now entitled?
I wanted answers! But since the letter wasnít giving me any clues, I decided it couldnít hurt to make up an initial wish list of which of Canadian assets I was hoping to score. Things got a little ridiculous and I was feeling like a goddamn greedy American so I went ahead and dwindled the wish list down to a modest Top Four:
1. Six pack of LaBattís
3. CN Tower
4. Peter Jennings
What? Like Zambonis arenít the next logical step on the S-U-fucking-V food chain?
And the CN Tower? I would totally live in the CN Tower. Iíd set up bunk beds right next to that scary glass floor and peer down on the beautiful city of Toronto before I fell asleep every night.
Then again, something else to consider: Iíd have to keep my drunk-ass friends away from the outside viewing decks during barbecues.
And Peter Jennings*? Never you mind what heís for.
The point is, this was exciting stuff, this letter.
Until I called my mom to find out what she knew. Turns out the dead guy was my dead Grandmotherís brother on my dead fatherís side.
Thatís right. My people are from Canada. At least they are on that side of the family. What, Iíve never mentioned it? Surely, I must have. Really? I never told you the story about how it was rumored my Canadian grandmother would sneak across the border to drink and carouse in the United States DURING PROHIBITION because, quote it was more fun that way?
Really? Never told you that one? Well, itís obvious I am my grandmotherís offspring and after all of these years together here at ann-frank.diaryland.com itís all becoming much more clear for you, yes?
So, as I said, I got my mom on the horn to clear this whole thing up and according to my her, the dead grandmaís brotherís estate was settled years ago, so itís probably just some left over fee money or something. Peanuts.
She is thinking something along the lines of $32.71. Canadian.
Hey, I am not disappointed. And I am certainly not one to turn down good money. Only there is an assload of paper work to fill out that includes having to do things like, track down my damn birth certificate (no clue where that is), show a few utility bills or something, plus credit cards to prove place of residence, and then I have to have someone Iíve known for like, 10 years swear they know me and swear that I am a good person void of sin, then that person also has to fill out some other paper work for me and we both have to go get it notarized and make official copies then seal them with the blood of a bald eagle and turn-it-all-around because thatís what itís all about and WHEW.
Thatís a lot of work to go through for $32 bucks.
But, thereís always plan B.
Plan B. entails hitting the road with best friend Jen and showing up at the Office of the Public Guardian and Trustee Accountant of the Superior Court of Justice in Toronto whereby I flash my driverís license and public library card, then insist the Mayor hands me one of those huge overblown Sweepstakes Checks for the C$32.71 of which I am entitled, because that would be a great photo op for the Toronto paper, right?
No? Well fine. Thatís not the best part anyway.
The best part? We cash the check then head to Casino Windsor, bet it all on BLACK then blow the winnings in one huge and wild Kinder Egg binge the likes of which North America has never seen!
And who knows whatíll happen under the influence of those sweet, sweet, Kinder Eggs.
I swear to God, Canada Ė Iíll do it!
Unless you reconsider Peter Jennings.
Then maybe weíll talk.
*yes, I know, heís now a U.S. citizen, but once a Canadian, always a [not as healthy as they could have been had they stayed with the land of socialized medicine] Canadian.