Thursday, 24 January 2013

LAST WORLD PROBLEMS


I get up this morning. My mouth is dry. Pasty.
Breath smells of dog and donair. Not that I eat either.
I hate that.

Cold feet on the tile. Waiting for the shower to warm up. Seems to take even longer than usual today.
Almost fall in it while I lather myself with sulfate-and-paraben-free, fragrance-free, effectiveness-free soap.
Need to get one of those anti-slip mats.
Another trip to the store.
Christ.

Get dressed. Notice my pants are a bit tight. Putting on weight.
Need to purchase a gym membership that I won't use.

Stumble downstairs for breakfast. We're all out of the omega-3-organic-ancient-grains-high-this-low-that-cardboard-tasting cereal that I say I like.
“That's okay. I'll drive down the street to Starfucks and get a delicious fair trade coffee.
Then I'll pour a bunch of cane sugar and soy milk in it to make it taste good.”
I order my coffee. I want to pay with my credit card to get the points, but my card is rejected.
Declined. Along with my mood.
Brow furrows, eyes rolling. I ask the cashier to put my coffee aside so I can go to the ATM three doors down because I don't want to pay the transaction fee to use my debit card at the till.
Not that I say this aloud, because she'll think I'm cheap.
I get the cash from the machine.
I wonder if they clean the keypad.
Back to Starfucks. I pay the lady. She gives me my change.
I wonder if they clean the money. Or if she cleans her hands.
Flash a meek smile to the cashier. Racing, panicked thoughts.
“Should I tip? How much should I tip? Ermergerd!”
Throw a loonie in the tip jar.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Damn, I'm good,” I think.

I go home with my cold, over-sweetened and -milked coffee. Blech.
I phone the credit card company. The perky representative says my card's been “compromised” and they'll send me a new one.
Compromised. Like my serenity.
What a hassle.
I don't need this.

I figure I'm already on the phone, so I make a couple more calls.
The cable company keeps me on hold for ten minutes. They'll send someone out on Thursday between 8 A.M. and 6 P.M.
I ask if they can be a bit more specific.
The rep says that the "someone" will be wearing blue overalls and a grey hat.
Har.

I phone my online stock trading company. Have they sent out tax forms yet?
No, not until end of February.
Do they send out information on capital gains or losses?
No, you have to calculate that yourself.
Pain in the ass.
I could get an accountant, but that's one more appointment to book. One more person to talk to and furnish with information.
Remuneration.

I have to apply for recognition as a subspecialist.
I can't find my certification. It's in a pile of documents somewhere in the second office, the one with the fireplace.
So much paper.
So many certificates.
Memories?
No recollection of sentiment, but a collection of parchment.
I e-mail my program's administrative assistant. Awkward. Haven't talked to her lately.
Long e-mail thanking her for all her help over the years and could she please send me a copy of my certificate? Like ASAP because I want to get this out of my hair? Please?
Takes her two hours to send it.
As if she has anything better to do.

Think I'll get some shopping done.
Go to Sillingsgate fish market. Their webpage said the Malpeque oysters were fresh this week.
I don't see them in the transparent case. I ask the attendant if they have any.
“I'll check in the back.”
It was not to be. FFS.
She says Malpeques are very popular because they're the ones that most people have heard about, but that the Beach oysters are good on the barbecue.
I don't explain that my barbecue is at my summer home.
I don't explain that I prefer them raw on the half-shell.
I don't explain that I'd checked online and seen that the Malpeques were fresh this week.
I don't explain that Malpeques are my favourite.
To show her up, I ask if she has any Raspberry Points or, from the Pacific instead, some Kumamotos.
She says no no.
I sure showed that ho ho.

I go to Beyond Beds and Baths to get some new toilet brushes.
The old ones unscrew in the middle when you're scrubbing, and that pisses me off.
The new ones cost five times as much.
They also unscrew in the same annoying manner.
I've never needed those containers where you store your surplus toilet rolls, but I purchase some today.
The large selection makes it difficult to decide.
So I just buy the second most expensive ones.

I stop for gas on the way home.
The price went up by two cents a litre overnight.
I spring for a car wash, too, but when I go to line up, I notice that there are many vehicles already waiting for their cleaning.
I don't want to waste time in line, so I go home with a dirty car.
It's not that dirty, but people seem to keep their cars very clean, and I don't want to stand out.
As I park in the garage, I notice a new crack in the windshield.
This will be expensive to replace because I drive a luxury Japanese automobile.
Soo desu ka.
Bismillah.

It's getting late. I have an engagement this evening.
Scarf down a ready-made gourmet cellophane-wrapped microwavable meal.
It's really hot in some places and kind of cold in others.
Haven't they perfected this technique yet?

I drive to the venue. It takes half an hour to find a parking spot.
I walk ten minutes to get to the door.
Fumbling in my pockets, I find my ticket and give it to the lady at the door.
She turns it sideways, scrutinizing.
Waving her supervisor over, glaring at me.
“This is a counterfeit.”
Counterfeit. Like my happiness.
Bumbling, blustering, bellyaching, I protest.
No dice.
My overpriced ticket to see Oprah that I found on jikiki is a fake.
Mind you, so is She, but She's the closest thing I have to a friend. Or god.

Home again. Jiggity jig.
Change into my silk pyjamas.
Slide into my California King bed with 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.
They're not that soft, but they'll do.

Today's been a complete and utter disaster.
Sometimes, I don't know why I even bother.

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