I’ve been working alright? Get off my case.
Toronto reacts to rain like Vancouver reacts to snow. The wet weather a few days ago added forty-five minutes on to my commute. Both ways. This in a town where rush hour already lasts nineteen out of every twenty-four hours.
Arrgh, all I’ve got is venom today, so I recommend you just stop reading here and come back tomorrow for the usual sunshine and butterflies. Seriously. I hate listening to people complain about where they live, but that’s all I’m going to do today, and it’s not going to be nice for anyone.
So I’m getting my car insured for Ontario, and as a result I’ve been dealing with all sorts of nonsense this week. For the last year, I’ve been driving with my British Columbia insurance, because last September the ladies at the DMV told me that it was okay. The whole thing seemed kind of sketchy, but I didn’t want to go through the hassle of changing my insurance, so I just took them at their word and ignored the potential for problems. However, dealing with my insurance company from across the country has lost its charm, so I decided to switch over. Now I’m going through the hassles.
On Wednesday, I paid a hundred and twenty dollars to get a safety inspection and emissions testing done. When I got back into my car at the garage, out of reflex I thought, “Well, at least my car will run better now.” Actually, it won’t, because I didn’t pay them to fix my car, I paid to be told it was okay already, which I already knew because I get the damned thing serviced every three months. Fuck.
Then on Thursday, since I’m not a student anymore, I had to get my B.C. driver’s license switched to an Ontario one. Seventy-five dollars and they took my B.C. license, so when I go back I’ll have to give another $50 to get a new one. Fuck. The woman at the driver’s license place was pleasant to deal with at least, but I’d be pleasant too if my job was to screw people all day.
And today, I finished the process and got my registration and license plates, which cost another $90. Seventy of that is an annual fee, so if I stay another year, I’ll have to pay again. Motherfucker.
The worst part is that at the end of every stage in the process, out of habit I told the person I was dealing with, “Thank you.” Thank you for manhandling me, I’ll be back for more. I understand that these people didn’t come up with the rules, but I need a face to attach my hate to, and that’s the one that took my money.
My seven days working last week didn’t help matters. Sunday counted as part of the week previous, and I picked up this past Saturday as a favour for another guy. When I got in on Saturday, I found out that it was a nine hour shift, which is like signing up to get punched and then being told that it’s going to be in the nuts.
Normally, all this stuff would roll right off of my back. I mean, a forty-nine hour work week is hardly news; one time at EA I did a ninety-six hour week (to which my immigrant labourer dad replied, “Nice. Now try doing that for seven years straight.”). Ever since August, though, I’ve been on an increasingly short fuse. August was when the trip I was supposed to take home got postponed on account of low fundage. So now, instead of being here because I want to be, I feel like I’m here because I’m stuck here. And I hate feeling trapped. The result is that every time an annoyance pops up, the effect is cumulative. I’m fine most of the time, but when traffic on a six lane highway slows to a stop at one in the morning, or I have to pay four days salary just so that I can drive my car, every piece of aggravation from the last two months comes back, and I hate this city with every fiber of my being.
I thought I told you to stop reading?
I’ll be fine; a few days at home will release all this built up pressure. Until then, though, I'll continue to be filled with unreasoning rage.
Puppy dogs and rainbows tomorrow, I promise.