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It's a tough call. The selfish me wants to die very quickly because I've already had enough drama for several lifetimes. I don't need my life to be dragged out any further. But of course I don't wish to see such destruction unleashed on so many innocent people. If they could just nuke me, that would be fine. All those who would want to try to survive in a post-invasion wasteland can be my guest.
His name really was Steve. I have such an unreliable memory that whenever I make a phone call that may require me making a note of anything, I record it. This call was charged for, and took about eight minutes, which was partly why I was so pissed off that my bank (like many other institutions) supplies no means of contacting them other than by phone or letter. Presumably part of the reason is found in that after I’d asked him my question he said that while he was finding out the information, would I consider giving them some money for some service that I didn’t actually want? I’m not even sure what it was – I cut him off before he’d had time to explain. There was a period of slightly embarrassed silence after that.