There are a lot of units in my apartment building, and we have a central mailbox where everyone's mail is delivered. There's a table next to it that every day gets a few pieces on it. Things sent to the wrong address or, more often, things sent to people who no longer live at the address. For some reason, I'm drawn to inspect this mail every day. It eats up precious moments of my day that over the years could total as much as an hour. Not as much as I lost watching the first half of the Kevin Bacon vehicle "Hollow Man," but nonetheless, a bit of time I won't get back. Then the other day, it happened. I'd stopped at my bank to order new checks, but they changed my address (to the wrong one) so my checks ended up stacked on this table next to Crate & Barrel catalogs and Capitol One mailers. I compare the experience to someone compulsively checking pay phones for quarters. Now you have to check every time that you walk past one and waste even more time since your checking has finally been vindicated.
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