Peas, Onions, Carry the Three

I forgot to brush my hair, yesterday. It's hard to do that, when you've got as much hair as I do, but I managed it somehow. Now, it's all knotted and horrible. I'll never get a brush through it. I'll have to shave my head. I'll be Socar O'Bald.

Also, I had an idiotic conversation with a representative of Canada Post. It went something like this:

"Ey, I was wondering about that package, number 026 (et cetera)."

"Uh, hang on--can you wait, just a second?" (Rustle, rustle, click-click-click.) "Yeah, that was delivered yesterday."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"It really wasn't. I'd remember that, what with the trouble I've been to, these last three weeks." I was straining to stay civil, already. Bloody thing arrived at the post office May first, and I've been trying to get hold of it ever since. I've been ringing and ringing, and they've been promising and promising, but still no package. I don't even know what it is. For all I know, I don't even want it. This is entirely too much bother for a mystery box.

"Oh, wait." (More rustling, more clicking. I waited patiently. Rat B got stuck in my hair. I dropped a stack of flyers on the ground, picked them up, and knocked them down again.) "Are you still there?"

"Yep."

"Okay, wait."

I waited some more. Rat B stuck her nose in my ear. The sun rose and set a few times. Mount Everest eroded to a nub.

"Hello?"

"Yes?"

"Okay, we made two delivery attempts yesterday. The file says that's four attempts, now. If you want the package, you'll have to come get it yourself."

I saw red. "That's nonsense. I was here yesterday. I was here all day. Nobody tried to buzz in. I'd have heard, if they did."

"You didn't give us your buzzer code."

(Pay attention. I'm getting to the idiotic part.)

"Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't."

"Lady, I've given it to you several times, now."

"Is it 3---?"

"Yes."

"Then, you didn't give it to us."

Jesus Aitch. How does one even respond to that? At any rate, she promised to ring back before five, with an update. It's now five past five. Ten bucks says next Friday comes, and I'm still chasing that package. Another ten says I get it some time in July, and it's something completely useless.

Shortly after I got off the phone with the post office, the Royal Bank called and tried to make me switch to a card with an annual fee. They were insistent, but I was adamant. Fuck the Royal Bank, and the annual fee they rode in on.

My frustration didn't seem to affect my novel-writing, one way or the other. I wrote my two thousand words in just under five hours. Towards the end of the fourth hour, I realised that whenever I write in a character who's irksome, but not overtly threatening, he gets a name starting with "J." I'm on my third annoying Jim in three months, in fact: there was Jim the office bore in the Howard Glassman joke, Jim the elevator jerk in a smart-arsed short story I dashed off, and Jim the giant pest in Giant Rats. All three Jims had surnames starting with C, as well, though I think the surname was edited out of "Howard Glassman." Maybe I'm secretly angry with...with, er, Jesus Christ? Ha, ha. (More likely, I'm just lazy. I also give all secretaries first names starting with S, and all protagonists surnames ending in -man.)

I think I'll change the names, next time. The main character can be Jack Morton, his wife can be Joanie, and the birds can be Vogel, Fågel, Oiseau, and so forth. (That's terrible!)

Apart from the Canada Post fiasco, nothing much happened today. A rotten cucumber poked through a garbage bag as I was tying it shut, so I had to put another bag over it. It was a waste of bags, but I didn't care all that much. You get forty bags for twelve dollars. That's only thirty cents wasted. Well, before tax, anyway. Maybe thirty-two cents, afterwards. How much is the tax, nowadays? It used to be, what, fourteen percent? Fifteen?

I hate that they don't put the price after tax on the tags, in this country. It's such a pain, calculating tax as you shop. You're walking around: "Beans, beans, thirteen sixty-seven times oh-point-one-five...peas, onions, carry the three...." You forget things, that way.

Yeah. All in all, it's been rather an uneventful day.