A twart

I talked to the biggest twart in the world today, a solicitor from Kent county council.

He'd lost his passport & was travelling next Saturday. Still plenty of time to get a new one, but he had a major hissy fit in a train station because:

a) I required him to take time off work to attend an appointment
b) I couldn't guarantee that the passport could be delivered to his workplace (for security reasons we require a residential address and he is between houses)
c) The price of the passport was £112.50 instead of ten pounds.

He was pissing, whinging and shrieking like a little girl. Any time I suggested something to help him, he'd go ballistic and say 'Well I can't POSSIBLY do that! This is effing ridiculous!' He managed to mention that he was a solicitor three times.

I'm not one for hitting kids, but he was a fella who needed a good effing shoeing as a child. Jumped up prick. I know where he works and I know his name. He's just effing lucky he's quite far away. I also know his email address, so I may set up some fake email accounts to spook him.

I may be sacked tomorrow because I've got another meeting with HR to discuss my absences. I hope they have my file handy because I can't be bothered explaining about my mental illnesses again. Ho hum. I'm sure I'll find another minimum wage job elsewhere.

I may return to the joyous world of credit control, or run away to the circus, or lie low in a kibbutz.