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Be warned, rant ahead. (I'm fine, love. Just a touch pissed. I'll stop by your work tonight and give cuddles.)
There is a large sign on the door of the office. It says: "As of Sept 1, 2001 we will no longer be mailing or faxing school/camp forms, or records. You must pick up the forms upon completion. We apologize for any inconvenience."
The reason for this, is because our post office is not good. They have lost an entire month of bills, along with many other assorted things. I used to take the stuff to the post office near me, but quite honestly, it's a pain in the ass, and I have better things to do. This way, I know they have it, and if the camps lose it, it's not my fucking fault, and they know it. It's not a perfect system, but it's the best I can do, and I don't think I'm asking for much. Stop by, pick it up. If you live more than 30 minutes, of course, I'll mail the damn thing, I'm not a bitch.
However, do not rip the form from my hand when I explain this to you, snarling "That's ridiculous," and storm out.
More importantly, do not come back in, growl, "you'll just have to mail it, because I'm not picking it up," and throw it at me.
1. I'm. Not. Mailing. It.
2. I'm going to take my time doing it. If you get it in a month, it'll be a miracle.
3. Neatness no longer counts.
4. I have a long memory. When you need a favor, don't count on me being there for you.
Ah, that felt better.
Now, I shall go prepare for the patients I actually still like. *grin*
And fight the plot bunny I inadvertently gave myself. (I'll get you, Roo. One of these days.)
There is a large sign on the door of the office. It says: "As of Sept 1, 2001 we will no longer be mailing or faxing school/camp forms, or records. You must pick up the forms upon completion. We apologize for any inconvenience."
The reason for this, is because our post office is not good. They have lost an entire month of bills, along with many other assorted things. I used to take the stuff to the post office near me, but quite honestly, it's a pain in the ass, and I have better things to do. This way, I know they have it, and if the camps lose it, it's not my fucking fault, and they know it. It's not a perfect system, but it's the best I can do, and I don't think I'm asking for much. Stop by, pick it up. If you live more than 30 minutes, of course, I'll mail the damn thing, I'm not a bitch.
However, do not rip the form from my hand when I explain this to you, snarling "That's ridiculous," and storm out.
More importantly, do not come back in, growl, "you'll just have to mail it, because I'm not picking it up," and throw it at me.
1. I'm. Not. Mailing. It.
2. I'm going to take my time doing it. If you get it in a month, it'll be a miracle.
3. Neatness no longer counts.
4. I have a long memory. When you need a favor, don't count on me being there for you.
Ah, that felt better.
Now, I shall go prepare for the patients I actually still like. *grin*
And fight the plot bunny I inadvertently gave myself. (I'll get you, Roo. One of these days.)
