Gil had finally started writing. For a while, he had been stuck, but now his “writer’s block” was gone and the ideas were starting to flow from his brain to his fingers and from his fingers into the computer. At last, things were moving again.
Ding, dong. The doorbell rang. It was the postman.
Since Gil was expecting an important package, he got up from his chair, went to the foyer and opened the front door. The postman didn’t have the package, yet, but handed Gil several letters and left. Shutting the door, Gil opened one of the letters.
“Keep your woman happy all night with our revolutionary male-enhancement product.”
As he sat back down at his desk, he tore the letter in half and dropped it into the trash. Now, where was he? Oh, yes! His main character was just about to discover something disturbing. Gil turned back to the keyboard and began typing. About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang again.
Ding, dong. The postman had returned.
Gil stopped writing again and went to the front door a second time.
“Hello. As an official of the government of Nigeria, I would like to request your assistance with the transfer of $23,320,000 (twenty-three million, three hundred and twenty thousand U.S. dollars).”
Rip! Another letter landed in the waste bin under his desk. Once again, he continued writing. Once again, the doorbell rang after about ten minutes.
Ding, dong. Once again, it was the postman.
Back to the door he went, once again retrieving a letter.
“Hi! It was so great to meet you the other night. Let’s get back together again. If you answer this letter, I’ll send you a photo of myself.”
Rip! Another one bit the dust and Gil returned to his novel. Ten minutes later, there was another ring.
Ding, dong. This time, he just switched on the intercom.
“You’ve got mail!”
“This junk is really interrupting my work. You may as well just go ahead and drop it into the garbage can at the end of the driveway.”
Gil kept the intercom on “listen” until he heard the lid of the trash can punctuate the sound of the postman’s receding steps. From that point, he was able to write, uninterrupted, until dinner time.
After dinner, he dumped the contents of his den’s waste bin into the bag of kitchen garbage he needed to take to the curb.
He arrived at the sidewalk as the garbage truck was just a few houses away and he lifted the lid off of the large trash can. As he picked up the bag he had brought from the kitchen, he looked down at the garbage already in the can.
There, sitting right on top of the previous day’s kitchen bag, was the package he had been expecting.