Having recently moved, we gathered up our important documents (note - you are in our will!) and as responsible, semi-mature people, thought we ought to get these things into a safe place where the dog couldn't possibly eat them.
Like a Bank. Like the bank up the street. The one with the nice carpet, plasma screen TV, reading center, smiling personal banker, and free coffee and goodies. "I'd like a safe deposit box, please." "Certainly."
After screens of personal information are input, after my driver's license verifies my smile, we march to the hand scanner. Three impressions are taken before we are admitted past the huge vault door to the inner sanctum lined with shiny tiny locked doors. TV cameras watch. I am instructed how to use the key (teeth out.)
As my personal banker opens my new special place and... the box is PLASTIC. TUPPERWARE?
Another illusion shattered. I'd give up the coffee for metal.
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