I am writing this purely because I need to whinge. I had a good friend on the phone this morning and whinged his ear off to the point where he was about six minutes late for his 8.30 meeting. [This is why he is a friend.] Probably won’t take my calls early in the morning again anytime soon.
A few weeks ago I wrote about the Poop and Kakka. The saga still continues with blood vomit, explosive diarrhoea, antibiotics, prescription dog food and the ten years that I have lost of my life. Today Koda was back at the vet for round 500. Let us just say that yesterday afternoon I used up a substantial amount of latex gloves in the clean up. Again, if it doesn’t work out for me in marketing etc I can go and work for people who need some taking care of business. [refer to Pulp Fiction The Wolf clean up scene]
The other source of my angst – and if you are as bored of this topic as I am, is my car. Yes, that old chestnut.
On Saturday night – with four teenagers enroute to A MidSummer Night’s Dream, I experience a Mid Winter Evening’s Nightmare when the vehicle’s onboard computer started shrieking for me to pull over due to loss of tyre pressure. You are actually fucking kidding me? Well, apparently not. In the dark it was well hidden but in the cold light of Sunday morning a shiny silver nail was located in the left rear tyre. The one that I replaced in November. The Artist is understandably mental. I truly don’t know what to say. They supposedly repaired the tyre yesterday and I happily thundered off to an event over “the bridge”. Returning at 10pm I found myself navigating the Lane Cove Tunnel when the car’s computer again experienced a melt down insisting I should pull over and stop the car due to massive tyre pressure loss. Now let me tell you something – there was NFW I was pulling over because there was nowhere in fact to pull over. So naturally I called The Artist who was not really able to help as he was safely tucked up in his warm bed in Maroubra. He suggested I
take my life in my hands try and get home and drive slowly. Which is what I did whilst again losing a few years of my life in the 40 minute drive, such was my stress. It turns out that when they fixed the tyre earlier in the day they neglected to even inspect the others for any damage. I am not entirely sure who exactly this made sense to but let us say that when we meet tomorrow I might just conduct a quick “impromptu” lesson on customer service and responsibility. Gentlemen – I’m coming for you, bright and early so brace yourselves.
On that note, as I sit in Kerryn’s car waiting in the cold for a soccer practice to finish – I bid you good night. Thanks for listening (this is what they call a captive audience).
Love and light