Rather the PR than me, I'm no salad-muncher. I find vegetables as revolting as I find the PR cute; which is rather saying something about my abhorrence of vegetables. Like fruit (well, most of them, I can't stand pitahaya or horned melons, especially horned melon, because they smell and taste just like tomatoes.)
My bitch is from yesterday. Fucking postal worker refused to hand over a vital and rather expensive item of next-day priority shipping mail, because the sender had accidentally written the wrong house number on the street, was really quite snarky and rude too, (and I hadn't been so to him to deserve it), although the next day I found a different mail clerk at the dept. so it narrowly avoided ending up as a £140 chunk of toilet-fodder, since there was no return address, and the folks in the house it both was and wasn't supposed to go to are out, so it would have been thrown away, and said package was a really, really important item.
I did get it though, after finding a different guy working the counter who was fine with it without the red 'we tried to deliver but you weren't in' card, that the tracking number and my ID was fine (I really don't see the slightest sense in denying mail in such circumstances to someone with the name on the package matching the name on the ID, living on the same road, and having knowledge of the tracking number. The first guy, an old fart was a real A-grade sack of shit, the one today, he took about 20 seconds to find it and present me with what was most obviously rightfully my property and not that of the neighbor. The first guy should have done it...fucks sake, its something like a 12 to 15 digit code, the tracking number, and for someone living across the road to have the same name AND, at a random guess, know the tracking code, it just is so far fetched that it could not possibly fucking happen.
I near shit a brick when the first guy fucked me off, because I knew what would be coming to me if I didn't get my mail, and it wasn't something pleasant in the slightest. I'm surprised Ren and QV/the PR all, didn't hear the massive sigh of relief after I had it firmly in my grasp, and a second one a few moments after grating some off the block of what actually did come to me and IS pleasant on the blade of my sword, and vaporising a nice big cloud of slightly perfumed, bitter tasting smoke; and another sigh of relief and pleasure as what was in the package began to drift lazily out of my nose.
I'm less fucked off now, but only because of that item of mail, if it wore off, I'd go right back to blowing steam out of both ears so corrosive it would burn a hole through several feet of iridium metal before stopping.
