On Saturday, the guys at the thrift store told me that if I volunteered on Monday, I shouldn't come in exactly when the Thrift Store opened at nine thirty. Probably great advice, but I don't have a watch.
I'd explored the building that contained both EmployFolks and the Community Public Relations. For my trouble, I found a DMV office that was closed on Mondays. I stopped by one of the banks on my list— National Bank C, for those of you keeping track at home—and learned they had a $50 minimum balance. While they were aware of PayPal (or faked it, which is good enough for me), they couldn't transfer the funds in without an account existing. And they couldn't make an account without funds on hand. Chicken and the egg, but an understandable one.
After seven blocks, I made it to the Thrift Store, but I had no idea what time it was. The door was open, but it still seemed too soon. I walked down two blocks further. I'd circled both of the local blocks when I'd arrived too early on my Saturday visit and I wanted to expand my horizons.
Wasn't much to see though, except that there was surprisingly more city east of where I was. Having nothing else to do and no sense of the time, I went in.
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