I have cut the various letters as per their various recipients, for you to pick and choose as you please.
...seriously, do you just know when I'm in a hurry? Can you read my mind or something? Not content with making me late to rehearsal the other week, you lost me an hour and a half of my day yesterday trying to get to my GP surgery and back again. It should not take me that long to get in and out of Kings Heath. What with getting caught at every set of traffic lights on the way out, the black-hole-esque queue of 11's that jumped in front of the approaching 35 (I mean, five in a row is a BIT extreme, don't you think? Aside from the extreme irony of matching the Red Dwarf analogy exactly, was this part of your plan to completely destroy my lunch break?) and then the unprecedented, inexplicable traffic on the way back in again, I might as well have walked. It probably would have been quicker.
I know your boss is the Big Man Downstairs, but I can't think of anything I might have done to offend him. If such is the case I would appreciate written confirmation of exactly what my crime was, so I can avoid doing it in future.
PS: I'm totally not done with you yet.
I know we're in the middle of a recession and times is 'ard. But I really do think you should consider paying your GP surgery receptionists just a teense more. Then they might actually have some modicum of job satisfaction and be remotely helpful.
When I finally managed to get to the surgery yesterday, I did not appreciate having to stand around in reception for several seconds waiting for the receptionist to finish having a conversation and drinking her cup of tea. I also did not appreciate it when, having finally noticed I was standing there, she grudgingly put down said tea and gave me a withering stare, which I took as an indication it was safe to enter her sacred realm.
I'm so terribly sorry I interrupted her hard-earned break, but the world does not stop turning just because the surgery staff are at lunch. In fact, I think you'll probably find the rest of the country are at lunch as well, and most of them are trying to sort things out which they cannot do during their work hours. Free healthcare is for all, not just the unfortunate or unemployed.
I have griped about your delightful receptionists before - having no regard for my being in excruciating pain, or exacerbating the stigma of mental health problems - but unless the situation improves I will be forced to write to you again in similar terms.
Also, whilst I'm at it, SORT YOUR BLOODY ACT OUT WITH REPEAT PRESCRIPTIONS. Ticking one item out of the three on my prescription indicates that I only require that particular item at this particular time. It does not mean that I never want the other two items ever again. SERIOUSLY, THIS IS GETTING STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF HAND-WRITING MY OWN PRESCRIPTIONS.
Yes, I'm writing to you again.
Whilst I mostly do not object to the prescription charge when my healthcare itself is free, for £7.20 I expect a pharmacy assistant (or, indeed, an actual pharmacist, as I don't know who the exact culprit was) who has a basic standard of education. By which I mean they should be able to (a) read, and (b) count.
My name is not, never has been and never will be "Ecca". If the first syllable was too complicated, then I must apologise for my name being so inconvenient, but I didn't choose it.
My prescription clearly states that I need two of the specified articles. You know, two. The next number after "one". Even if we were still in the dark ages before other numbers were invented and counting was achieved via the medium of "one, two, many", supplying two of the items should not have been an issue. Given the fact that the staff member in question could not apparently read, however, I should at least be grateful I got the right medication at all.
The pharmacy manager was equally as exasperated as I was, and deserves a medal for having to put up with this shit. I, on the other hand, merely deserve to BREATHE PROPERLY.
Or more specifically, dear random seller on Amazon,
Where oh where is my package? I ordered it last Tuesday. Thankfully I do not require it until Paul's birthday on 1st January, as it is a birthday present, but it has now been over a week. You have taken the money from my account for said present, but of course you have given me no way of tracking the progress of the delivery. You have until Saturday before I complain and demand a refund.
PS: I know the weather has been shite, but even the actual Amazon order turned up today, finally. Get your frelling act together already.
Or more specifically, dear Driver of Number 76 Bus,
I know the shiny new pedestrian crossings at the Howard Road / Alcester Road junction have only been there a matter of months, and things must be very confusing for you as a result. I mean, it's not like you do the route all day, every day or anything. It's not like you don't know your Highway Code. But just in case, I shall clarify something for you.
Red means stop.
Amber means get ready.
Green means go.
This is a simple concept. I can understand how you might have been confused, because there was a green light, it's true. I should further clarify, therefore, the following:-
A big round green light in front of you means go. By contrast, a big round red light in front of you means stop, i.e. do not go, remain still, etc.
A smaller green light shaped like a walking man somewhat to your left or right and below your eye level also means go, but not for you. You should not even be looking there in the first place.
Thank goodness I was paying attention and saw you starting to edge forward, otherwise you would have hit me. And even if you hadn't hit me, one of the other two drivers who ran the red light in the opposite direction would have done, when they presumably followed your stupid example. Beeping me when I have right of way is NOT COOL. You are a tosser. I am almost sorry you didn't hit me, because at least then I could have sued the arse off your employing company and got several grand in compensation.
No love whatsoever,
Just... seriously, universe? Cut it out, already.
I might as well add this one.
TURN THE FRIGGING HEATING UP.
Frozen of Floor 2.
My plan for this evening was to leave work earlyish, go home to get changed, walk to the post depot then bus-hop to Aldi to get some shopping, come home, cook tea, and make a start on my Christmas Boxes for work. Instead, thanks to above-mentioned pharmacy stupidity and horrendous traffic, I merely went to the post depot on the bus (one stop further than home), then dragged my sorry self back to the house, which smells of the fish we ate on Sunday (and bin day isn't til Friday so we have another 24 hours of it to cope with). At this rate the Christmas Boxes won't get done by the 17th, the last day everyone's in before Christmas, but I'm hoping to get a rhythm going once I get started. I've bought all the ribbon now so I need to make them.
Because of the aggravation, Paul went to Sainsbury's instead to get stuff for tea and has put our casserole in the oven. I think if these things happened less close together I would be inifitely better at coping, but my greatest weakness is things beyond my control making my life difficult, especially when they cluster together over the course of several days.
Thankfully I don't have much more shopping to do, though we need to start populating the diary soon...
Anyway, I shall now sign this off because my hands are cold (which has been a theme of the past fortnight). I should probably post a photograph of my minor frostbite at some point, because it's really quite impressive.
Bored of winter now. I can haz spring?