Rainy Days and Fridays
Gah. It’s been one of those days. One of those days where it rains non-freaking-stop, and you really don’t want to go out, but you have to renew your road tax, and you’ve been putting it off for days but now you’re going to get arrested if you don’t do it, like right now, so you hunt down your umbrella and you roll up your jeans and you trudge over to the Ghetto Post Office, only to find that, whoops, the GPO is actually just a pretend post office and they don’t issue tax discs, so you put in your contact lenses and you drive to the main post office, but when you get there you realise that you left the five dozen bits of paper you need to claim said tax disc at home, so you turn round and drive back, and then you drive to the post office again, and then you wait for twenty minutes in a queue behind a mad woman, and then you buy wine and go home, the end.
Also: you write really, really long run-on sentences because GOD, today sucks. Doesn’t today just suck?
I blame the DVLA. They brought in this fancy-pants new system whereby you can now renew your tax disc online, see. Now, this made me happy. Very, very happy. I hate Post Offices. Hate them with the hatred of fiery hate. I hate them because a) they’re always filled with old people (WHY?) b) there’s always at least a twenty-minute queue, and c)they’re always filled with old people.
The one exception to this is the Not-The-Ghetto-Post-Office (located next to the Ghetto Superstore in the, er, ghetto across the way), which is always as quiet as the crypt, possibly because of its "Not Actually a Post Office, Just Pretending" status, which I discovered to my chagrin today. The post office I eventually ended up in wasn’t actually filled with old people either, for a change, but it was filled with a mad woman, who seemed to know every.single.person. in the room (except me, natch), and spent the entire ten minutes it took her to do her thing telling them all, in a very loud voice, about her job washing the bodies of dead people. I swear I’m not making this up.
Anyway, I couldn’t use the online payments thing for reasons too boring to go into here, hence my trip to the post office(s), so that was how I spent my day. You wish you were me, you really do. In other news, I think I might hate my new glasses. I don’t actually pick them up until tomorrow, but every time I think about them now I think "granny glasses". Thanks, Terry. I’m preparing for the miracle of sight by planning a huge, top-to-bottom house cleaning, which will take place tonight, just before Big Brother. Weirdly, I’m actually quite looking forward to it. Cleaning is therapeutic. I am teh mad.
Hey look, I managed to write a whole entire entry about the post office and renewing my tax disc! This is interesting to you, Internet, don’t even try to tell me it’s not.