Worst. Saturday. Ever.


I had plans for this weekend. Enjoyable plans. I was meant to be heading up to John Forrest National park on Saturday with Ryan and Ali. However, things did not go that way…

I needed to get to the bank. I have to swap some large quantities of cash between my savings account at what I shall call Bank A and my normal, day to day account at Bank B, in order to pay for my trip next year. At the same time I have some heavy strata fees coming up and need to make sure I’ve got the cash free to handle them.

I also had a mysterious package to pick up at the post office. Not my normal, close-by post office, but the one in Inglewood, which is so badly sited that I need to take two buses to get to it. Making things even more fun was the fact that if I didn’t get there ASAP they were going to send it back to wherever it came from.

So, I reluctantly cancelled the trip to the national park, and girded my loins to get it all sorted on Saturday morning.

I got up early and had a nutritious breakfast. I then hopped online to check when the bank opened…

…and discovered that it no longer opens on Saturdays. “BASTARDS!” was my reaction, realising that I wouldn’t be able to get over there again until my next day off over a week away. So I revised my plans to skip the bank and headed out to catch the bus to Morley. Which I did.

The wrong bus.

It wasn’t a huge problem as the bus I got went to Morley anyway, it just took the scenic route and arrived five minutes after the connecting bus I wanted departed, meaning I’d have to sit around for half an hour for the next one. On the upside it did go past a noodle bar near the bus station, which I decided to stop into on my way back for lunch, as I was quite in the mood for noodles.

I waited around and got the next connecting bus, which carried me to Inglewood. I jumped off opposite the post office and walked up to the doors… to discover it wasn’t open on Saturdays.

“SINCE WHEN??” was about the most repeatable thing I said.

Considering my options I decided to walk to my parents’ place a few kms away, beg them to pick up the parcel f0r me on Monday and get the train home. So I began my trek. My trek through the rain, thinking about how I wouldn’t be able to get back to Morley and wouldn’t be able to have those noodles I was thinking of.

About halfway – Glory be! – I stumbled across a noodle shop! Fantastic! I crossed the road and walked up to the door. It was locked. It was locked in complete contradiction with the opening hours posted on it, saying it should have opened an hour beforehand. I swore some more and kept walking. Through the rain.

I was just approaching my parents’ street, when something horrible occurred to me. The item I was trying to pick up was an International Signature Item. Could you get other people to pick up an International Signature Item?

I checked the notification slip. No.

More swearing ensued.

By now I was a broken, beaten man. I gave up on visiting the parents and slouched my way to the railway station. I got the train home and crawled into bed, having spent several hours achieving NOTHING.


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