Monday, 1 July 2013

Yourself

So here we are once again, hell I guess it's that time again, and my saga continues in this constant struggle at merely coping.
Today I left at 08H30 and off I went to Mordor (Canal Walk) the mall, had to get to a bank and sort out one account, then from there off to the workshop with the new parts for the Cafe racer, but as usual life's never that simple, I get to the bank, sit in a queue for 20minutes just to be told I need a proof of residence, for FICA, fuck I didn't bring it, so the young woman says to me "listen just go to your other bank and get a statement", badda bing, and I'm off. I get to my other bank and guess what the address on my account there is a P.O.Box, and the guy informs me this statement will not help with Fica....???? really, but it's ok for you guys, my love you long time bank???? my first thought is "I been with them 20 years, but then hang the hell on, I had to Fica 3 years ago when I moved" Ok the hell with this I'm off to my service provider, so off I stomp, and here we go, "Hi, I would like a statement on my account with the address" sir one moment please, so he starts messing about here and there and goes off to the printed, and all fucks out the printer won't print and we can't get a single statement out, holy shit. I'm not just trying to take deep breaths, cause this should be simple, one minute, I have a clothing account I can get a statement from, so off I trundle to the accounts department, 15 minutes in a cue, I ask for statement, just to be told sorry we can't do that here, you have to go to reception, and the printer is not working, ok where is reception, you just go straight the you there and you will see it. Wtf????? what do I make of those directions, so I go to information, I tell her I want a statement, she tells me to back to the lady I just came from, to which I reply she told me she can't at which point the other lady shouts to the other something about reception. So where the hell is reception I ask? she replies "well they can't print", just tell me where the fuck reception is. Finally I get to reception, and as I walk in a lady shakes her head and says "NO", what????? you don't even know what I want? I need a statement please so a lady pops out from under the counter and says, just a minute and I'll do that for you. Wow, that's amazing, at last. In a minute or two I'm walking out statement in hand, now just off to the bank and we can get this sorted.
Hi, I'm back to sort out that account, here is that statement you asked for I say to the same young lady, who has been so kind as to let me skip the queue and I'm on a roll, she turns to me with a straight face and tells me that this statement will not do, it has to be an original posted statement, ok that throbbing in my head must be an embolism, I'm going to go postal, this just can't be happening, it's not even 10am?
I leave, go home and fetch a statement, by the time I eventually sort the account out it's 12H30, it seems that the worlds ass has been facing me head on today, so I just gave in and went home to draw, and regain a little sanity.

The fact of the matter is that more and more I see people drawing salaries and doing less and less to earn them, it's a fucking travesty, it's fraud, and it's a fraud perpetuated against us all, because without our patronage, these people have no job, and thus no salary.

So here I stand pissing against a south easter as it blows it all back over me, and I guess if you joined me, we wouldn't make much of a difference, but maybe if you did and your friends did, perhaps we may be wet, but we wouldn't be alone.

I'm sorry if I rambled and this doesn't make much sense, I blame the embolism.

THIS TOWN

This country... It pulls the bones from your back leaving you a wobbly mess, never having any purchase, it's  irreverent abuse of everyt...