Today, I thought I would let my state of being jobless be a help instead of a hinder, and I offered to run some ‘simple’ errands for my Nan.
(Yes, I am jobless, no I am not claiming benefits, so if you would like to send me some money for no reason what so ever, my paypal email is Kelly.firstname.lastname@example.org … thanks)
The task was menial, and something thousands or pensioners carry out every week.
Go to the Post Office, get pension, put it in bank. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. This was today’s motivation. Go to Post Office, get pension, put it in bank.
I usually try to avoid the Post Office at all costs, usually by inventing wild excuses why I can’t go in there and getting my Mum to send parcels for me. ”But Mum, last time I went in there, I called the lady a slag, I really shouldn’t go back for a while”
”Mum, the Post Office smell plays up my Asthma. And it makes me itch.”
Seeing as I didn’t have anything better to do today, I didn’t even mind that when I took my ticket it was number 42, and we were currently on 22. I can’t remember when the Post Office reverted to the Argos way of doing things, but I should imagine it was around 2005 when Royal Mail stopped them being the monopoly on British Post because the government realised they are shit.
One of the reasons I enjoy Basildon so much, is due to the sights you see just going about life. While standing in the queue, I witnessed a man with long blonde hair in denim cut off shorts.
I thought ‘HOLY CRAP its Hulk Hogan’ until reason hit me and I thought ‘don’t be stupid Kelly……Hulk Hogan isn’t old enough to collect his pension’. My Mum advised me this short wearing character was quite a ‘face’ and he wears said shorts come rain or shine, snow or heat wave. Good luck to him, if that’s what he believes in. I personally don’t get Scientology but there’s plenty of people who DO believe that we are all re-incarnations of dead aliens. Each to their own.
After the fairly painless experience in the Post Office (which I’m still in shock about) all I had to do was go into Natwest and pay some money in. I had a slip, pre written out by Nan, because even at the age of 25 she clearly doesn’t trust me with a biro.
My Mum says ‘Don’t go to the machine, it’s complicated’ and I think to myself ‘complicated for you love because you don’t even know how to plug in a DVD player, but I, a woman of the 21st century will surely be able to navigate a self service paying in machine. After all, look at how well I do with the self service in supermarkets and Smiths’ (by the way how cheeky is it that the self service in WH Smith STILL asks you if you want chocolate? if I wanted chocolate I’d go to Thornton’s or the Poundshop mate).
The first mistake I made, was believing I didn’t need any help. The lady in Natwest bordered on offending me asking if I needed help right after a 90 year old man had told her no. No, I don’t need help. You put the slip and the money in and sod off. It’s not hard is it.
The second mistake I made, was wrongly assuming you put the notes in one by one. You don’t. I didn’t want to put £20 in I wanted to put £50 in. Easy enough, cancel the transaction and start again, I’ve got all day.
Only problem is after cancelling the transaction, the machine gave me a nice bold message YOU WILL NOT GET YOUR SLIP BACK. What, wait, why wont I get my slip back? Where has my slip gone?
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