The Collector

I realized something today while I was at 7-11. I collect receipts.

I buy something and, no matter how small the cost, if the harried cashier offers me a receipt, I take it. If the harried cashier doesn’t offer me a receipt, I stand there (adding to her, er, harriness) until she does offer me a crisp white receipt.

I’m not sure why I do this. At the store, it makes complete sense to me. I’m going to take this receipt home and put it in some sort of filing system so that I can access it at the end of year and use it for tax purposes.

I feel really grown up when I think thoughts like this.

And then I take that slip home, put it on top of this black armoire that we have and never, ever look at it or touch it again. At some point in time, someone (possibly my wife) does something (possibly involving the garbage can) and the area on the armoire is magically ready to accept new receipts.

I make it a point to never ask myself questions about the filing system that doesn’t exist and the tax purposes that I don’t personally understand. Most importantly, I never ask where those receipts go. That would be like asking why Harry Potter uses owls instead of e-mail. It lacks imagination.

Gas receipts, food receipts, magazine receipts. I’m gonna keep on collecting them – and not just for myself. I keep putting them on the black armoire and someone keeps picking them up. What if that person looks forward to them? What if that person has an actual filing system and actual tax purposes? Who am I to deprive them of the receipts?

I feel really grown up when I think thoughts like this.