Humans use the words "thank you" often. For example, when leaving a parking garage, a human may hand his parking ticket to the attendant in the booth and say "Thank you", meaning, "Thank you for accepting this ticket."

The parking attendant calculates the amount owed -- oftentimes, nothing -- then punches a button which raises the gate. The parking attendant says "Thank you" to the driver of the automobile, meaning, "Thank you for patronizing our parking structure." (Even in situations where no money is taken from the customer, the Thank You is offered.)

The driver, seeing the gate open, says "Thank you" to the attendant, meaning "Thank you for opening the gate and securing my release, which you are contractually obligated to do", then creeps forward in his car, back out into the world.

Humans say "Thank you" from morning until they retire in the evening, oftentimes one "Thank you" following another following another instead of the customary and expected response of "You are welcome." Based on my experience, I would not be surprised if the average human said "Thank you" approximately one-hundred times per day.

Most humans work very hard to appear agreeable; and yet I wonder how many are truly thankful. In their actions, they do not behave like a race that is thankful for anything. Every day I see drivers in automobiles cut off other drivers, sometimes getting out of the car to shout and intimidate. I see graffiti on the sides of office buildings and on the street. Half the humans I have met do not believe in a creator or an afterlife, therefore they are by default not thankful in their inclinations, as there is no figure to credit for the creation of their universe or themselves.

Today I received a postcard from Rebecca. It was sent to my address; I found it in my mailbox. On the front was a photograph of a beach in Haiti, and on the back, a brief note saying the following:

Dear Sander:


Thank you so much for gathering my mail. Haiti is upsetting, but it feels right to be here helping. I'm sorry for snapping at you at my birthday party. Thanks again for helping me out. Give Jughead a hug for me. See you soon.

Rebecca

I was surprised that Rebecca knew my mailing address until I remembered how she helped me when I was ill. Naturally she would need this information in order to visit me. (In the nine years I have lived in this apartment, she is the only human to have visited me.)

I experienced a strange occurrence when reading Rebecca's note. Liquid leaked from the inner corners of my eyes, and my nose became congested. In the moments it took for me to locate a tissue the symptoms vanished. A delayed reaction, perhaps, to the inoculation I recently received? I will ask Field Physician Oribda 9675 if there are any known reactions to these antibodies.

The Asian man with the camera continues to mount the nearby building. He is there between 11 a.m. and noon daily, always photographing the apartment below mine. Oftentimes he returns at unpredictable times in the evening. It is more difficult to see him in the dark, though he is foolish enough at times to wear light socks or no socks at all.

I do not know his purpose, but I find his presence unsettling. I have not gone outside this building in several days. This has been bad for participant observation, but quite conducive to my preparations for the Zerbeda conference, which begins on Friday.