Notification winner letter

OFAH alphabet - letter H
Awight?
Saw this being done on a few other subs over the years, might be fun to give it a bash here.
Rules are simple, new letter each day, and we try to come up with the OFAH alphabet.
Most upvoted comment wins.
New post every day around lunchtime with a new letter, and we go until we reach the end.
How’s about it me old son?
Yesterday’s winner was Groovy Gang (narrowly beat Gary!)
So sling yer ‘ook into letter H
Just to clarify since some didn’t get it. It’s a new letter every day, so H only for today, I tomorrow etc.
H=?

🏆🏆⚔️ Axie Infinity Origins: From Double Wins to Defeat #CryptoGaming #GamerJourney Embark on a rollercoaster ride with me in Axie Infinity Origins as I celebrate two thrilling victories before facing the humbling experience of defeat. 🎢🎮 🥇 Celebrating the Wins: - Relive the excitement of my back-to-back victories and the strategies that led to success. - Explore the gameplay and tactics that helped me secure a spot on the winner's podium twice in a row. 🛑 Facing the Defeat: - Witness the challenging battle that ended my winning streak, and the valuable lessons it taught me. - Understand that every defeat is an opportunity to learn and come back stronger. 👍 Engage with the Content: - If you're passionate about the highs and lows of crypto gaming, please like, subscribe, and share your thoughts in the comments. - Hit the notification bell to stay updated on my latest Axie Infinity Origins adventures. #AxieInfinityOrigins #CryptoGaming #BlockchainGames #PlayToEarn #GamingJourney #VictoryAndLoss --- 🔗 Connect with Me: - Follow my social media for more gaming content, updates, and community discussions. - Join our Discord server to share your own stories of victory and loss, and let's support each other. 🙏 Support the Channel: - Your engagement helps this channel grow. If you'd like to support further, consider becomming a member. Thanks for watching, and let's navigate the thrilling world of Axie Infinity Origins together, celebrating wins and learning from losses! 🎮💪 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6KGXaY6RCY
via IFTTT

I don't really want to repeat everything again, so if you want the most detail, go see my prior posts. But basically:
-Filed 1/2 & accepted 1/16 -After PATH lifted got 570 -Called around then, was told 45 day hold from date next to 570 - 2/26; 45 day hold was up 4/11, nothing happened -No change on transcripts since late February -Only had 570, no 971, no letter, no notifications, all other good codes including CTC and EIC -Refund is on account as negative balance and income correctly posted to SSA - 570 literally just seems to be freezing my refund release -Last week I called IRS again and had a 60 day referral (4442) put in for a phone call, was told 'still in review' but nothing more
Now, tonight, I check after midnight and my 'as of' has changed from 3/11 to 6/3. This is the first change I've seen since late February. I've read probably every single post in this Reddit over the last couple months, and I've generally seen that the 'as of' date generally doesn't mean a lot. BUT, this is my first change in over 75 days. There's two of you here that really seem to know what you're talking about, so can y'all maybe shed some insight, puh-lease? I'm assuming it means there's some slight movement in processing? I don't want to get overly excited but it's been a LONG time since I've seen ANY movement.
TIA! 🫶

I wanted to express my gratitude to this community for all the helpful insights and information I've gained from your posts. I'm happy to share that I've just received my Green Card approval without an interview and RFE in just 4.5 months! Here's a detailed timeline of my process:

Background: F1 student married to a USC.
Jan 1, 2024: PD I-130 Applied Online (California Service Center). Receipt Block: IOE93778
Jan 4, 2024: PD I-485, I-765 (NBC). Receipt Block: IOE09238
Jan 6, 2024: I-130 status changed to "Actively Reviewing".
Jan 13, 2024: Biometric Scheduled.
Jan 31, 2024: Biometric Appointment, I-485 and I-765 status changed to "Actively Reviewing".
Feb 1, 2024: I-765 Standalone Approval.
Feb 10, 2024: SSN Received.
Feb 16, 2024: EAD Card Received.
May 5, 2024: Email Notification: "We have taken action on your case."
May 6, 2024: Email Notification: "We have taken action on your case." Contacted USCIS via Emma; representative noted both cases transferred to the Local Field Office.
May 10, 2024: Uploaded additional unsolicited evidence (Cover letter, additional pics (10), 2023 tax transcript, car insurance with both names, joint checking account statements).
May 13, 2024: Email Notification for I-130: "We have taken action on your case." Found approval letters in the document tab.
May 14, 2024: Email Notification for I-485: "We have taken action on your case." Found approval letters in the document tabs.

Evidence of Bona Fide Marriage Submitted:
Marriage certificate
25 pictures with family and friends
Travel boarding passes from 2 trips
Shared phone and utility bills
Costco membership
Beneficiary designation on life insurance
Emergency contact in my health portal
Gym memberships in both names
Tax transcripts
Car insurance in both names
Joint driver's licenses with same address
Joint bank account statements from the last 3 months

This timeline might give hope to those in a similar situation. Feel free to ask if you have any questions about the process!
Thank you all once again for the invaluable support!

Hello everyone! I’m happy because last year I bought myself a house, but a few days ago I got this letter from the IRS and I’m not sure how to proceed. I have already contacted my realtor (clueless), my CPA (told me to forward it to the title company) and the title company (no answer).
This is the letter:
This application is for the disposition of the U.S. real property interest described as “(address)”. The transferor of the described property is “(sellers)” and the transferee is “(me)”. This letter is your approved withholding certificate and your legal notification that the disposition of the U.S. real property interest described above is reduced to $######## in withholding. As the transferee you are required to file Form 8288, Withholding Tax Return for Dispositions by Foreign Persons of U.S. Real Property Interests, and Form 8288-A, Statement of Withholding on Dispositions by Foreign Persons of U.S. Real Property Interests. To avoid penalty charges, please send these forms and any withholding tax due to us within 20 days of the date of this letter. If you are sending a check or money order, please make it payable to the 'United States Treasury,' including your home telephone number, and Social Security Number. If you have any questions, please call customer service. The telephone number and hours appear above. If the number is outside your local calling area, there wil be a long-distance charge to you. Or, you may write to us at the address shown at the top of this letter. Thank you for your cooperation. Sincerely,
Maybe this is because the sellers are British? If anyone knows what I should do (maybe go to the IRS website and download those forms and then upload them?) please tell me so I can avoid contacting the IRS.
Thanks in advance!

Hi everyone,
Is the "Your application was viewed" notification on LinkedIn accurate or meaningful? I applied for a position back in February and went through four extensive interviews. However, they stopped responding to my thank-you letters and follow-up messages about four weeks ago. Today, I received an email from LinkedIn saying, "Your application was viewed." I'm not sure if this is accurate since I have the impression that they passed on me. It's a big company, so I doubt they're reconsidering my application. Any insights?
Thanks

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

I just got notification that my road is being repaired this summer. They state in the letter that any flowers/shrubs/fences/etc within a meter of the sidewalk should be moved to avoid damage... I just started landscaping the rest of my front yard and the part I do have done has a ton of perennial flowers and lilacs near the sidewalk. Does anyone have experience with this program and how much my yard will actually be disturbed?! I really want to road fixed but not at the expense of 6 seasons of established plants and brand new landscaping 😭😭

I (Canadian Citizen) sponsored my wife in Thailand, I received notification awhile back that I was eligible to sponsor my wife, she passed all biometrics and everything else, now she received notification to attend an interview with an immigration officer in Bangkok, letter states that I do not need to attend, but I could technically if they wanted me to, as I'll be in Thailand during that interview coincidentally. They stated in the letter she will have to bring all her 'original documents', updated passport, etc
My question is, what is this interview for? Should I attend? ..and what kind of questions will they ask?

I think it was Jack's idea. Or maybe it was Mindy who came up with it. You know, if I do try and really think about it .. well, maybe it could've actually even been me who decided we play it. I've spent hours trying to pierce my memory back together, more to pass the time and distract myself.. But it's all irrelevant, It doesn't matter now. Maybe it never did.
Mabel was turning 30 and it was up to us to plan the party. We were all nostalgic about childhood memories so we decided to go all out - Frogs in the pond (jelly cups with Freddo frogs), hot dogs and fairy bread, and we wrapped up prizes in newspaper for pass the parcel. Pin the tail on the donkey and Twister were set up ready to play, the spice girls were blaring on Spotify.
Mabel's eyes lit up when she walked into the room and her smile was worth all the effort we put in. We danced and played games, and as the sun started to set and it grew darker outside, someone suggested turning off the lights snd playing murder in the dark.
There were ohh's and ahh's, laughter as people remembered a game they most likely hadn't played since primary school. A collective chatter amongst us in agreeance to playing Someone handed out cards, while were told the rules of the game. And then the lights were tuned out.
For those of you who don't recall, these are the basic premise of the games rules -
You'll need - Pack of cards
Instructions - Sort through a deck of cards and find the following - an Ace, a Jack, a King, a Queen, and number cards for the amount of remaining people. (i.e.-if six people were playing, you would need two number cards.)
Each card means something - the Ace is the murderer, the Jack is the detective, the King is the detective if the Jack dies, and the Queen is the detective if the Jack and the King both die. The number cards just walk around for the beginning of the game.
Tell the players that all they need to worry about for the time being is if they get the Ace. Give a card to everyone. Nobody looks at each other's cards. Once they have their cards and have seen them, put them down somewhere out of the way for the next round.
Turn off all the lights so that it's completely dark. Everyone begins to spread out and walk about slowly, and try not to laugh or talk. Players aren't allowed to stick together in this game. During this time, the murderer is seeking 'victims'. When she/he finds someone alone, they quietly brush their shoulder and whisper, "You're dead." As an alternative, the murderer could clamp their hand over the persons mouth to avoid the person screaming, and then whisper "You're Dead".
The dead player drops to the ground, dead, and can not speak or move. The murderer may or may not hide the person they just killed in a hiding place. It is not advisable, however, due to the risk involved in getting caught. When a player sees a person lying down, they ask, "Are you dead?" The person simply nods 'yes' or shakes their head 'no', but they must tell the truth. If they nod, the person who found them shouts "Murder in the Dark!" and the lights are put on.
The murderer may not murder victims any longer and all the alive players assemble where the dead person was found. The players who are not present are noted as dead. The detective sits in a chair in front of all the others who are on the floor. He/she asks questions to each person. (i.e. where were you when someone yelled Murder in the Dark? Who do you think is the murderer and why? etc.)
When the detective has enough information and think they are ready, they say "Final Accusation" and ask one person-"Are you the murderer?" It is very important that the person answers TRUTHFULLY at the final accusation. If they are the murderer, then they must say yes. If correct players pick new cards and the game starts again. If wrong then turn out the lights and carry on.
Our rules were a bit different though. It was added in that it would be a last man standing game instead. We wouldn't have a detective - we would have a murderer, murderees and possibly one lone survivor. If someone did survive -Whoever who was still alive when the egg timer went off in 60 minutes - would be the winner. If the murderer had successfully killed everyone and there were no 'survivors' - than they had won the game.
I'll admit, it was spooky. There's just something unnerving about being in a room full of people that you cannot see but you can feel their body heat or hear them breathing. I began to walk around softly, careful to make as less noise as possible. As I wasn't the killer - I had no 'good card' I was just a waiting victim, so I wanted to hide and try and bide my time staying alive as long as possible. It didn't take long to find the first 'body'. I could tell it was Mabel from the way the long blonde hair trailed along the carpet. I whispered "Are you dead?" And I guess she mustn't have heard me because I didn't see her nod.
I moved on quickly, going into the spare bedroom. I didn't risk shutting the door behind me, I just went to hide under the bed. There was a body already under there though, I felt the warmness of human skin as I clambered under the mattress, my hand recoiling in shock as I brushed up against someone's leg. I didn't bother to ask whether they were dead, I mean I guess it was cheating a bit, but we were alone, and they were certainly doing a good enough job of playing dead it seemed just silly to ask.
I heard the muffled scream down towards the other end of the house, - the first 'victim' I'd heard to make any noise - and knew it was safe to make my move out of the bedroom to a better spot.
I nearly tripped on the bodies that were splayed out on the floor, in the hallway and the kitchen. Whoever had the murderer card was certainly taking the game seriously and playing to the best of their ability. I had yet to come across anyone else walking around and was starting to think I might actually have a chance of winning, depending on how much longer was on the egg timer, of course.
I made a beeline to the kitchen to check how much time we had, it honestly felt like the game had gone on forever - and I was shocked to feel the broken pieces of the egg timer on the kitchen bench. I looked at the clock on the microwave - the green numbers burning into my eyes. We had been playing for over three hours.
Something didn't feel quite right.
I tiptoed back into the hall to Mabel, leaning down to whisper to her that we'd been playing way too long - but then I felt something wet and slippery on my hands when I knelt down next to her. It was blood. I stifled a scream as my hands roamed and I realised the birthday girl had had her head caved in.
I backed away slowly, tears streaming down my face as I quietly made my way to the front door. I let myself out and ran across the road, banging on the neighbours door while constantly glancing behind me to see if I was being chased.
The neighbours nearly fainted when they saw me covered in blood and screaming, but they calmed me down by showing me they had double locked their door and called the police.
They don't know who killed all my friends. Everyone who was meant to be at the party was still in the house - slaughtered.
It's taken so much therapy and I'm still not sleeping at night. I wish I could go back and help my friends. I didn't know, but the blame remains.
I got a letter in the mail today though. It was a congratulations card, and written inside said 'last one standing - winner winner - care to rematch, Afterall the last game was so fun! I'll see you soon, when darkness comes.'
So my advice, don't play childhood games. They could have dire consequences.

Looking for a mod or setting to return the side letter notification when research is completed.
I love the random research mod but hate when something finishes and I can't recall what the research contained. ( double problematic when it's new content from a mod or the new dlc.)

A little background: Because of unexpected events, we're both exposed to the real world at the age of 10. (2014-2016) Familiar but not friends. (2017-2018) Got close. (2019-Mid 2020) Mutual Understanding. (Mid 2020-2022) Just friends. (2023-Now) On and off relationship. My mom personally knows him and his family since we were young. His family was able to witness our relationship grow, never knew about the break up and fully supports our relationship.
May 2020: I(15F) started to treat him(16M) coldly after he laughed off my vent of experiencing an awarding ceremony mishap where my name was mentioned but someone else's face was on the screen (this was my third time experiencing such mishap). So I finally decided to end the (1 year) mutual understanding. We still had little to no conversations. Until I slowly started to realize that breaking up with him was a wrong move.
First Week of December 2022: We had a group project, we (just friends 17F and 18M) originally planned to be grouped together, until his friend asked him to be grouped with him because his friend didn't want to be unfamiliar people. Without hesitation and consent, he tried fixing things by entrusting the rest of the members with his GBF to lead us. We ended up forming our own group, without him and his GBF. I asked him what happened and he never replied, ghosted me for a week.
Last Week of December 2022: I was doubting (because he has GBFs) but still tried to get back with him, he agreed and we've fallen for each other all over again. Fast forward to a few months, I opened up about being jealous of his GBFs. He tried lessening their interactions but felt guilty afterwards.
Additional detail: We go to school and home (15-20 min. ride) together. He revealed to me that after he walks me to my house, he goes home and goes back to school for his track and field trainings (as part of his routine, he also likes taking a 1.5km walk going to and coming back from school). After training, he's all sleepy and whole body hurts. I surprised him with a mini ice pack but he barely used it. I was unaware that my concerns became words and actions that downgraded him and he started to dread track and field trainings. Due to what happened and being busy in college, he barely joined trainings again.
He had a big competition where they had to get up early in the morning so they had a sleepover at his friend's house. My best friend was also there, she chatted me that she couldn't sleep and I told her she can ask him(my now BF) for help but she was still too shy to ask. I let him know about how my best friend felt uncomfortable around the other guys, so he volunteered to watch over her. Then he started to think how awkward things got and felt uncomfortable around my best friend. I used his GBFs against the situation, he admitted that compared to my best friend, he wouldn't feel uncomfortable if it was his GBFs. Now all he remembers is that I ruined his competition day.
May 2023: I wasn't allowed to attend prom because of my strict mom, she told me it was unnecessary. He also planned to not go, but during the very last minute, he was forced by his parents because it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. My last chat to him was to enjoy and his last chat was a thank you for allowing him to go and a sorry for breaking his promise that he wouldn't go without me.
After a few days: I asked "Did you drank during prom?", he got all defensive, started avoiding my questions and took him a day before he admitted that he was invited to drink in a room with 1 guy friend, GBF and 4 other girls, without telling me (because he knew I would get mad at him for drinking with his GBF). His statements were "He knows his tolerance level." "He only went with them as a pay back because we're all going to college already."
June 2023: I wanted to invite him to my birthday celebration with my family but was prohibited. I asked my mom for permission to go out with him, still wasn't allowed and was shut off for asking why. I attempted to ask for another permission to go out with my other friends but ended up guilt tripped by my mom, she said "Are you not scared of the past incident when someone attempted to snatch your food?" I ended up not going.
Additional detail: I'm an only child, used to spend most of the time with mom, was never close to dad, and mostly had been laughed off when I tried to bring up things that bugged me, so I grew up not having much friends (my mom said it's because I was always grumpy), and I avoided over sharing. I slowly started to realize that I wasn't allowed to attend prom because my mom expected I wouldn't like people again, even kept asking me "You don't really want to attend prom right?" (but it felt like a knife was pointed at my neck and would be stabbed for saying I really wanted to go)
July 2023: To go out on his birthday, my aunt advised me to write a detailed letter to my mom. I placed it on right her table, it's impossible she never saw it. So he personally asked permission from my mom. I didn't want her worrying about me so I came up with an idea (he knew it was a bad idea from the start) to tell her we would be riding his family's car. My mom expected I would be picked up from our house. So we ended up saying his family was busy and went to a nearby mall instead. That's when my trauma started and resented my parents.
August 2023: We're enjoying our lunch and I randomly saw a notification popped up, it was his GBF. I asked him what he could do about it but he said "His GBFs came first before me and they were there during his hardest times, especially when we broke up (compared to his family, he's more open to his GBFs because they listen to his problems)"
November 2023: As a fight or flight response during our arguments, I would bring up the prom issue and he would start asking me "Just because of the past, are you really choosing to invalidate all the sacrifices and efforts I've made for us?", he even kept asking me to forgive and forget. Then we came up with the plan to tell my mom about our relationship.
Additional detail: We went out during November and I had a curfew to reach home by 5. He convinced me to stay longer, but I started worrying that I'll be scolded once I reach home. We were buying food, I really didn't know which one to choose and ended up giving the staff a silent treatment which I'm really ashamed of. I was also scolded for violating the curfew time. My mom even told me that I should be thankful for her effort of not letting my dad know that I went out. Now all he remembers from that day is my silent treatment.
December 2023: All was going according to his plan, he bought presents during their family trip. But I screwed up the very last minute, I was concerned that he's exhausted from the trip so I asked him if he's really prepared, because of my doubts he called off the confession.
May 2024: We're arguing over everything in a never ending cycle. He called me sexist for wanting him to be the one to face my mom. I had to convince him to come with me and I'll do the talking (we're planning to confess in the upcoming month). Now, he's still passing the responsibility to me, expects me to do it on my own.
Additional detail: He said I'm too emotional, and my vents had been draining him, so I had to promise that I'll stop sharing the littlest things that's happening in my life. But once I started sharing stories (turning into rants) again, he would break up with me, saying that the only way I can get back with him is to face my mom on my own.
TLDR: I(15F) broke up with him(16M), got back together after 2 years. Due to unresolved traumas, and having a hard time facing my strict mom(57F) to confess our(19F and 20M) relationship, we're now on and off and stuck in a never ending cycle of hurting each other. What strategies can help us gain courage to approach my strict mom to confess our relationship? Would appreciate all the thoughts and advices, thank you in advance!!

I will try to keep it short but it's still going to be long. I rented a townhouse in Nicholasville Kentucky. It is managed by a property management company. The same people that own the management company also own the property under a different business name. It had a musty smell. I deep cleaned the carpets five times before I moved in. Got an insane amount of animal fur out of it. After moving in my guinea pigs quickly developed a respiratory problem and died. My child developed pneumonia and we couldn't figure out why. When inspecting the central HVAC, I discovered the inside of it was completely covered in mold. I also found mold growing on the ceiling of my child's closet. You could see where it had previously been painted over and the mold had continued to grow through the paint. The inside of the fuse box also had mold growing in it. I documented everything with photos. My child and I left the unit to stay at my mother's home until the unit was safe. The management company sent someone out to clean the HVAC. That person rubbed the mold around some but did nothing to clean it. I asked someone from the management company to come and look. They sent their maintenance guy out. He assured me they would take care of it. He said he would put a realtor's key on the door so they could come in to fix it. I asked him not to do that and requested he just tell me when they were coming so I could be there. The next morning I arrived at the house at 8:00 a.m.. I had not received any notification of anyone coming to the house. The maintenance guy had put a realtor's key on the door against my wishes. There were people in my home when I arrived. They re-painted over the mold on the ceiling and cleaned the mold out of the fuse box. The HVAC unit will still filled with mold. They handed me a letter from the management claiming I caused the mold with improper use of the air conditioning unit. I paid out of pocket to have mold testing done, which found higher than normal amounts of mold in the air. I presented the results to the management company and requested mold remediation services be performed. I also requested they remove the realtor's key from the home and that they inform me anytime someone was going to be coming. Over the next couple of weeks they refused and continued to send people over with a key who would just come in my home without even knocking. I felt like this was some sort of intimidation tactic. I spoke to a free legal advisor who informed me the city of Nicholasville was somehow exempt from regular landlord laws. After enough fighting with the management company, we decided to end the lease. It was agreed that I would move out and be relieved of any future rent responsibilities. After I left I received an email with a bill for $2,800. They were charging me for mold remediation claiming I caused the mold from improper use of the air conditioner, whatever that means. I responded by telling her I disagree. She then emailed me saying "in that case I will charge you for the rest of the lease" and sent me an additional bill for more than $7,000. I simply ignored them. 6 months later I had a hit on my credit for a $7,000 collection. I contested it and it was lowered down to the $2,800 she originally attempted to charge me. The whole thing feels like extortion. I documented every interaction with them in great detail and have plenty of photos. I also have a paper signed by the management stating the lease has been voided. I'm afraid if I go to small claims, they will bring in lawyers that will be able to screw me over somehow with a counter suit. I just want their fraudulent claim removed from my credit. Any advice would be great.

Todays letter is C!
Scoring will be done via upvotes with the highest upvoted quote being the winner. I will make a new post for the next letter on the next day and that'll include the highest upvoted quote.
A: "Alright, partner. keep on rollin baby. you know what time it is." - YeetusFelitas
B: "Bring it on!" - curnow

Does Regional Vera know claim decisions before letter notification is sent out? I was told Im denied but, called 800 says its in final stage asked to reverify bank info. Our wait until notification letter come out?

Link to AO3
chapters 1&2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
The Academy looked normal enough from the distance but blew Gentry’s mind when she finally entered it. First of all, the way in lay through a massive winter garden full of the most luxurious botanical collection she’s ever seen. Not only that, but it seemed to be arranged in a way that offered spaces for hanging out as well as paths in and out. Here and there, G noticed little nooks with people’s voices coming from them and small murmuring streams gleamed in the sun that blazed through the transparent walls and roof. This place looked magical and invited to stay, enjoy the refreshing coolness and peace of mind. But Gentry had a good enough rest in her communal room the night before and was eager to start working on her first assignment that the System had spat out with a congratulating letter. Figuring out the controls of her new wristcomm was simple enough.
DEAR GENTRY!
WE ARE DELIGHTED TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU ARE THE FIRST CONTESTANT TO CLEAR ALL CHALLENGES AND OBTAIN THE STATUS OF AN ASHTAPADAN NEWCOMER! YOUR MEDICAL DATA HAS BEEN ANALYSED AND FOUND ACCEPTABLE.
IN THE ATTACHMENT TO THIS LETTER YOU WILL FIND A LIST OF RULES, RECOMMENDATIONS AND IDEAS THAT WILL DEFINITELY HELP YOU IN THE FIRST WEEKS IN OUR BEAUTIFUL CITY BUT WE STRONGLY RECOMMEND FINDING A BUDDY THAT WOULD BE YOUR MAIN GUIDE AND POTENTIALLY A NEW GREAT FRIEND! IT CAN BE ANY CITIZEN OR A MORE EXPERIENCED NEWCOMER.
YOUR CURRENT POINTS: 0
WHY NOT START EARNING SOME WITH YOUR FIRST ASSIGNMENT?
START ANY BEGINNER COURSE AT THE ACADEMY AND KEEP YOUR ATTENDANCE RATE OVER 80% — WORTH 50 POINTS
(OPTIONAL) FIND SOMEBODY WHO IS WILLING TO BECOME YOUR BUDDY — WORTH 20 POINTS
Without stopping to check if the vending machines offered anything good, G made her way through the dreamy garden and entered the inner yard that looked just like everything here: nothing too eye-catching at first glance but secrets hidden everywhere.
One thing she had already noticed was that most of the people had another piece of technology on their bodies besides the comm on their wrists: a sort of extendable visor that some of them kept engaged at all times. Those who were focused on the screen had a comical look on their faces, a thousand-mile stare, eyes wide even as they were talking to each other or going about their business. It was unclear yet why they would engage the screen for so long though. No one needed this much time to read a notification or check a map.
Take a group of young students by the fountain, for example. They seemed deep in conversation with each other yet their pupils didn’t focus on the person in front, but on the translucent screen over the top part of their faces. Was it some kind of virtual reality helmet?
If so, G needed one, too.
Perhaps she’d be able to make new friends this way.
There was something else that caught Gentry’s eye. Despite her initial disappointment about the severe lack of male hotness in the streets, people of both sexes seemed to really care about their appearance. Even those who probably weren’t naturally stunning were very interesting to look at not least because of the crazy fashion sense everyone here had. Never before had G seen so much variety in what everyone wore: countless variations on different national garments, some looking very traditional, like something one could see in a theatre, some — futuristic uniforms straight out of a sci-fi movie. It didn’t seem like anyone was concerned with gender norms here, too. At least in when it came to the outfits.
G hoped she didn’t look like a creepy stalker when her gaze lingered on a pair of very nicely shaped legs stretching from underneath a plaid skirt that belonged to a young man in the group sat by the edge of the water. A pair of snow-white knee-highs, flat loafers and neat raven hair with some blue streaks completed the image. His clothes fit him very well and weren’t inappropriate in the least: something an old money university student would wear.
A female student that is.
And he wasn’t alone. Here and there, among more conventionally dressed people, there were people wearing all sorts of things: a crazy mix of goth-like apparel but barefoot, men and women with heads covered with scarves, people in strange jewelery that looked like it weighed a ton and so on. Most importantly, no one seemed to care what the others looked like.
Was it paradise? Looks like the demo didn’t lie: it was heaven on earth.
The young man in the middle of the student gaggle caught her staring after all. With a dazzling smile, he waved in her direction as if they were great friends, and G waved back, face heating, hoping there wasn’t anyone behind her this tease was actually waving at. Thank god his shoes weren’t heeled, otherwise she would definitely have a heart attack right here, in the middle of the common area, on her first day.
Did he notice her ogling his legs? Judging by the giggles of his friend's entourage, they all did. The young flirt covered his mouth, eyes wide in mock indignation and pulled his knees in, as if hiding them from the improper attention, getting even more laughter from the rest of the company. G averted her eyes and tried to calm her breathing as she was on her way through the yard again, but before they all disappeared from her field of view, she noticed the coquette stretch his legs again and fall back on a friend of his, embracing the lucky man’s neck in an affectionate gesture, already forgetting G existed.
There was no way she wasn’t going to make some pretty boy do the same for her. Forget the assignment, put that in the list of her top priorities!
At first, Gentry was lost when she failed to find any kind of class schedule and there was no one to ask at the reception desk.
Why have a reception desk if nobody’s on duty?
Soon, however, it occurred to her that there was no schedule: each room within the wide marble corridors had a small display with a handwritten message scribbled on it.
Bachata for beginners
Product engineering (Tuesday class cancelled)
Colloidal chemistry (revision today)
None of these were the Communications course that Jey was talking about, but the variety definitely made G’s eyebrows go up.
Was she just supposed to barge into any class and sign up? Did she have to sign up later if she liked the subject? Was it ok to choose any?
After some wandering around, too scared to just walk in uninvited or ask others for directions, she finally stumbled across the door saying:
Communication & decision making course (Newcomers welcome)
With the desks arranged in a horseshoe and the people of various ages that were also apparently Newcomers, it all seemed comfortably casual. Everyone was chatting as she walked in, paying G no mind so she busied herself with the wristcomm that dinged at exactly the right time to save her the embarrassment of looking for a desk.
Would you like to enroll in this course? Scroll down to read the description.
Was this damn thing a spying device? Did it just know which room she was in? Jey didn’t joke when she said the little thing was going to be her primary aid!
“Are you looking for somewhere to sit?” called a young red-haired woman at one of the paired desks. “Here, this one is free.” She had the auglasses on, like everyone else, but they were off, showing her lively face and a pair of sharp green eyes.
“Thanks,” G said, gratefully taking the offer. “I’m new here, don’t know how things work yet.”
“It’s alright, the course is very engaging, you’ll love it.” — the woman held out a hand — “I’m Sereen, what’s your name?”
G shook the warm palm. “It’s Gentry. And by new I mean I’m new to Ashtapada, not just the course. Literally arrived yesterday.”
“Really?” — S looked surprised — “Everything must be very confusing!”
“You have no idea,” G smiled. “I’m glad someone understands. Everyone’s friendly but acts as if giant mechanical dogs in the streets and a moss garden in the lobby are the most normal things ever.”
“Don’t worry, I was just like you when I first arrived, you’ll get the hang of it soon.”
“Hope so! Is that the lecturer?”
“Shhh...”
Just like everything else in Ashtapada, the lecture started out normal enough only to unfold into something completely alien to how things were normally done.
Apparently, the Communications course involved learning rationality, debating, logic, etiquette and god knew what else. It was supposed to give the future citizens tools to, well, communicate. G was given a booklet with some ground rules for beginners that included entries that sounded like something Sun Tzu would say if he studied debating instead of warcraft.
“The purpose of any argument is not to win it and not to change the other disputant’s mind. It’s to find the truth.”
“Always argue in good faith.”
“Don’t attack your opponent.”
“If attacked, dismiss the attack as if it didn’t happen.”
Well, hopefully, it only meant verbal attacks! G knew too well that when it came to physical violence, it was hard to ignore it.
Most of the rules looked straightforward enough, some were confusing.
“Seek challenge to your convictions. Avoid echo chambers.”
“Don’t seek being right.”
“Be mindful of your audience including yourself.”
“Avoid “Empty arguments” that don’t bring everyone closer to the goal of finding the truth.”
The lecturer, a willowy man of about sixty that drowned in his tweed jacket, started the class with a bit of small talk with the regulars after distributing the booklets to all first-timers. He made sure to give it to G face down so that his photo under the “About the author” title didn’t go unnoticed. He also made most of the “talk” part himself.
“I never took part in a debate,” G told Sereen, who was patiently waiting for the class to begin. “And never seen anything like these rules. Is it actually useful?”
“Oh, believe me, professor Poe will be ecstatic to talk to you about them. He can’t not start discussing his subject at the slightest provocation. Look.” — she raised her hand — “Professor, how was your weekend?”
The man wearily smiled. “That might seem like a meaningless question, Sereen, but it’s actually very much related to the topic we are going to cover today.”
“See?” — S raised her eyebrows with a suppressed smile. G giggled. This promised to be interesting.
“Our friend Sereen is a very polite person, isn’t she?” — Poe smiled at the class but his eyes glided over everyone’s faces, gaze turned inwards like he was reading an invisible text written on the walls. “But as kind as she is, I don’t think she’s actually interested in how my weekend went. Small talk is just a social custom we engage in to strengthen our social relations. Why don’t we just start a day by saying “Hi! I value our relationship and would like to fulfill my societal role!” to everyone we know? I would definitely prefer THAT over the small talk! He-he!”
The audience laughed politely. The guy seemed alright.
“However, just as we use different tools to fulfill this role in different contexts, so can the context of a logical problem steer our thinking towards a rational, that is, right, and an irrational, that is, wrong, answer.”
“Well, that’s not a given,” Gentry mumbled under her breath but it went unnoticed by S, who was already immersed in the lecture.
“Consider the famous René Descartes’s quote "Cogito, ergo sum". Who can translate it from Latin?” — the board behind the thin, almost transparent man glowed, displaying the words.
“Is it really a Beginner’s course?” G asked Sereen in a low voice but her companion was already raising her hand, together with a dozen other students.
“I think, therefore I am,” she said after a curt nod of the lecturer’s permission.
“Very good,” he continued, pleased. “I taught you well. Those of you who attend my lectures regularly are familiar with the notion of solipsism, which states that the only thing we can be sure about is our own thoughts.”
Gentry looked at S with raised eyebrows.
If this is an introductory course, what was the advanced like?
Sereen didn’t seem to perplexed. She was fully following the thread.
“However,” professor Poe said. “I am going to challenge that notion by demonstrating that we can’t trust our own mind when it comes to perceiving reality.”
He looked at the audience with a quizzical eye, and pointed at Gentry with a long bony finger “You, new girl. I want you to close your eyes.”
Why her?
Gentry was only happy to hide behind her eyelids. No doubt the whole room was now staring at her.
Through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard the old man’s voice, “Who was sitting beside you before you closed your eyes?”
“My new friend Sereen,” G answered and heard a little gasp of appreciation from the woman.
“So you know she existed as long as you two were whispering behind my back. However, now that you can’t see or hear her. How do you know she exists?”
“Well, I can reach with my hand and touch her,” Gentry said, demonstrating.
“Yes, this is what most people answer,” Poe said. “You can open your eyes now. But let me ask you this: how would you know it was her, an not some other person that took her place?”
Gentry’s intuition was right: everyone was staring, as if waiting for her answer.
“Well, I suppose— ”
“Hush, it was a rhetorical question,” the professor cut her off. “The correct answer is that you can’t know that. We think we can trust our senses or at least our thoughts, but this is also false. Everyone, look out of the window.”
Everyone did.
The day was as fine as Gentry was annoyed.
What did this pops think of himself?
“I’d ask what you see, but I already know the answer,” he went on. “All of you would say “the sky”. And all of you would be wrong, because sky doesn’t exist. We only see the endless emptiness of the outer space, but perceive it as a blue dome. It’s an illusion, a phantom, born out of our collective unconscious.”
Sereen whispered, lost in the lecture, “Ah, yes, Carl Jung.”
What?
Was it supposed to be obvious?
“But listen to this,” he continued, voice booming like a demiurge’s in the completely silent room. “Listen to this. How many words is it? Listentothis. Our common sense says it’s three words while in reality it’s just a string of sounds I an producing with my mouth. I am literally making you hallucinate the spaces between the words I’m saying. With knowing that our perception is so flawed, how can we know that we even know how to think?”
“I’m sorry, professor, I disagr...” G started but got struck down by his serrated gaze.
“I’ll invite questions at the end, young miss,” he chopped out.
Sereen’s eyes were sympathetic. It looked like most if not all of professor Poe’s students had learned not to interrupt him.
He went on, “Anyway, the fact that you even understand what I am saying is in itself incredible and shouldn’t be possible.”
“But it IS possible, right?” G whispered to Sereen. “I mean, aren’t we understanding this as he speaks?”
“PLEASE refrain from talking unless asked!” professor Poe roared.
Impressive lung capacity for such a frail human being!
G begrudgingly did as she was told. The guy seemed to be enjoying this power trip a bit too much to her taste.
“Now, since most of you,” he put some emphasis on the word to shut up another pair of whispering students. “Most of you think you comprehend my words, you must know that there is a way to tell that something is real, even though we can’t rely on our senses for perception. I’m giving you a minute to discuss with your partners what it might be.”
G considered it. She and Sereen exchanged equally confused glances.
Like a dutiful student, S started summarising Poe’s arguments but Gentry listened with only half an ear. She felt that behind all this over-thinking was a clear and simple answer.
She watched the professor walk along the aisles, tuning into one or another conversation before leaving each with a smug head shake of disapproval.
What was there to think about? Even if they didn’t see the world precisely as it was, something was definitely real, right? The chair she felt under her buttocks, the air around, the low murmur of the students. The annoying professor that… looked a little too translucent.
Gentry waited for the man to approach their desks and tune into Sereen’s musings. As he came so near they could reach out and touch him, Gentry did just that.
To her utter shock, her hand went through the old jacket and sent a wave of static over the professor’s figure, his whole form glitching and flickering.
Professor Poe was a hologram!
Unable to help herself, Gentry said, “No wonder you don’t think anything is real, Professor, you are hardly real yourself!”
The whole roomful of people stared, transfixed, at the surreal scene of a student’s arm disappearing into the teacher’s abdomen.
Gentry looked back at Sereen in search of support.
Was it laughter in her eyes?
Poe’s blood drained from his face, the mouth slacked open, twitching as if trying to form some words, but none came out.
Sereen chimed in, “You never told us you were a simulation, Professor.”
“Out!” Poe gritted lowly so that no one really heard him.
“I’m sorry?” G asked, innocently.
“Out of my class!” he exploded, jumping out of Gentry’s reach with an enraged grimace. “I am as real as you are!”
G stood up and looked at her hand then back at Professor Poe.
How much rage could storm in those watery eyes?
Then, she winked at her new friend.
“Let’s go then, shall we?” she said.
Sereen looked lost for a second, her eyes darting pack and forth between Gentry and Poe. Then, her gaze seemed to cloud a little, as if she retreated into her own head, but when she resurfaced, she nodded with a mischievous smile.
Both young women left the room, the classmates’ sympathetic silence and Poe’s angry seething seeing them off.
***
“What a way to start my first day,” Gentry said. “My hands are still trembling a bit.”
She and S were calming their nerves in the green winter garden, the soothing sound of the little running streamlet at their feet a welcome distraction.
“Believe it or not, his course is actually quite useful,” Sereen laughed. “Who would have thought the old Poe is actually not human? I guess we never thought of poking him in the stomach before. This is going to be the talk of the Academy for the next month or so!”
“Is it? I feel bad now. I guess I’m not getting any points for attending this lecture, right?” — Gentry checked her wristcomm — “It says “zero progress” and something else… ad.. Honi… adhonim…”
Sereen laughed, “Yeah, you adhominem’ed good old Poe, no wonder you got zero credit!”
“What does it mean?”
“You’ve seen the rules of learning and discourse, right?” S said. “There are no-nos, things that aren’t allowed, especially when it comes to Rationality classes and the like. Ad Hominem means an attack on the speaker, not their argument. It isn’t exactly what you did, but I guess it’s the closest thing!”
“Ad Hominem, huh,” G said. “Well, I guess I deserve it then. Thanks for standing by me.”
If it wasn’t for Sereen, G wasn’t sure she would be going to return to the Academy any time soon!
“You just chose a wrong course as your first class, G,” — no doubt about that! — “But another lecturer who works here is much more open-minded and he also teaches Rationality. I think you’ll enjoy him more than our old Poe. His next class is in a couple of days. Wanna come?”
***
DEAR GENTRY!
CONGRATULATIONS ON COMPLETING AN OPTIONAL ASSIGNMENT! 20 POINTS HAVE BEEN ADDED TO YOUR STATUS COUNTER.

Hi I have a bizarre situation I hope someone can help me with. I recently received a letter in the mail from a California collections firm about an unpaid fine from August, 2013.
The ticket is from San Luis Obispo County and after looking up the referenced case number, the specific citation is for "POSSESSION OF OPEN CONTAINERS OR CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES IN PUBLIC PLACES".
For context, I do not live in California, but I did go to San Luis Obispo to visit a relative around that time. I 100% did not get a ticket or even interact with any LEO in any way while I was there. My relative was graduating from college, and I briefly parked (my rental car) at their house while I was there. I definitely wouldn't be surprised if some college kids were drinking around there at the time, but I know I did not drink (in public) nor would I have left an open container lying around. Maybe some police officer just assumed it was someone related to the car and wrote a ticket that went to the rental car agency that (eventually) gave them my name?
Not sure, I can only speculate at this point. What I do know is that this is the first time I am hearing about this. I never received a ticket or notification in the mail over the last 11 years, and now they are asking for ~$900.
So my question is - What is my recourse here? Is there a statute of limitations for these kind of things? Will the collection agency pursue me in any other way? Do they have the authority to record a judgement against me in my home state? Is it safe to ignore this?
Any advice or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Thank you in advance!

So I went in for the interview today, and right after that, they said I passed and offered their congratulations. Then I did the oath ceremony and received a certificate of naturalization, along with a flag and a "welcome" letter from the US president.
After I got out, I saw a notification on my phone that I needed to schedule the oath ceremony. My question is, isn't that already completed during my interview? Or is it an entirely different process that I still need to show up for?

Let me preface this with some details; I normally receive

• Informed Delivery notifications every day, including Sundays, even if there's no mail
• Letters shown in Informed Delivery on the same day as the notification, except Sundays

I received an Informed Delivery notification for a letter on Saturday, 5/11, but it's currently Tuesday, 5/14, and I still haven't received that letter. I also haven't received any more Informed Delivery notifications since Saturday. My carrier already came today and I received the usual junk mail, but no other mail.
What are some next steps I can take?