I believe, without hesitation, any piece of paper that says, “Keep this copy for your records.” My “records” consist almost solely of sheets of paper that have told me to keep them. In fact, I didn’t really have any “records” per se until I got a bank account and my statements started telling me to keep them in my “records.” So I started keeping “records.”
My “records” are a virus. They are not truly alive, and yet they have infected me, live parasitically within my apartment, and have a natural ability to propagate themselves. They are pieces of paper that have somehow evolved enough to develop the instinct of survival.
Since they created themselves, I let their instructions concerning themselves control me. I would not normally let a small note on a piece of paper control my life, but if that note has any instructions concerning my “records,” I comply fully and completely. “Keep the canary copy for your records.” OK. “Tear off the perforated section, and keep for your records.” No problem. “Remove the above staple, and do a provocative dance near your records.” If I got a piece of paper that said that, if it was typed up nice, if it had a corporate logo on it, and if there was fine print on the back, I would remove the staple and proceed to quickly and suggestively writhe and thrust about the black file cabinet in my bedroom.
I assume one day, I will receive a piece of paper that will give me further instructions about my records. I assume at some point I will be told why it’s necessary that I have, in my possession, every phone bill I’ve paid since 1997. I assume, eventually, it will be revealed why it is vital that I can find, on a moment’s notice, a copy of my medical insurance activation form from three jobs ago. I assume. No, that’s not a strong enough word. I have faith. I have faith my “records” will provide these answers.
My friends say I should clean out my “records.” They say I’m saving extraneous things, and that I should especially throw out the really old stuff. They say a lot of my “records” are useless. They say my “records” could be a lot simpler and could take up less space. I’d love to believe them, for it would mean a happier life for me. But, sadly, my friends continue to tell me these things, rather than indicating their advice in a tiny box on the goldenrod copy of a four sheet carbon copy form. And so my “records” live on.
It is my belief they will survive long after I’m gone. Perhaps long after the Age of Man ends. I believe that one day, my “records” will become a full-fledged, self-sustaining species; they will walk the earth, rulers of all they survey. My mighty “records.” I’m so proud of them. I’m proud of what they’ll become. I took a picture of them, and I spent $100 to blow it up and have it framed really nice. Then I spent $5000 to redecorate the living room in my apartment, such that the framed picture would become the centerpiece of the room.
Yes, it’s a lot of money. Don’t believe I did it? Because I can prove it.
I’ve got the bank statement.