Playing By the Rules

So, fuck you society.

I went into the Orange shop the other day, because I have decided they are slightly less evil than Vodafone on the basis that they offer me a 20% discount for being a local government employee, and - importantly - don't shove dead babies through my letterbox.

After wasting a considerable amount of time being absolutely dicked about by the most fearsome amount of bureaucracy I have ever encountered*, the man tapped away on his computer and said.

"No."

No, that was it. No you cannot have a phone with us, you horrible little man. You can't have a phone because you have a bad credit rating - or rather - you don't have a credit rating at all. See the thing is, I've never really been in debt. Like a fucking chump, I play by the rules. I pay my bills on time, I don't own a credit card, I don't have an overdraft. So no, I can't have a phone, because I've never borrowed money.

You cannot join the army. You've never actually killed anyone and that makes us suspicious.

The gentleman behind the desk suggested that I get into debt with a credit card, then pay it off. After all, it will improve my credit rating and I get to buy stuff, right? I suggested that he get himself a bulletproof face, then left. I have a phone contract. Hell, I'm getting a mortgage*. That's not good enough for Orange. It might have been because I conveniently forgot where I'd been living for the last three years due to a combination of awful memories and fraudulent activity. I'm pretty sure it was the credit rating, though.

To compound my thoroughly bad day, I returned to my old landlord's place to collect my chest of drawers, only to have the van driver turn up with a van you couldn't conceivably fit a cat into even if you put it through a blender.

"I should have probably emptied this," he said glumly. Well yeah, probably. I said I needed to move a chest of drawers, not two matchboxes and a chilled yogurt. After that I went to work where the supervisor in charge screamed "Well fuck off then!" at the top of her lungs and shoved me out of the way when I refused to do things that weren't in my job description. Getting assaulted in the workplace - cool way to end the day.

If there is a moral to this story, it seems to be that the next time you get a chance between fucking yourself and not fucking yourself, you should probably just go right ahead and fuck yourself. It's a more acceptable style of behaviour.



* Considering I work for a Council that keeps three daily spreadsheets on the movement of small cakes, it was pretty fucking feirce. 
 *Propetarian, I know, but if I'm going to get fucked by landlords, I might as well be fucking myself.