(no subject)
Sep. 1st, 2005 10:30 amWhy didn't they fucking tell me that the Post Office would close before 5pm on Wednesday and that the Post Office doesn't accept credit card payment?
All this would have been nice to know before I packed stuff into boxes that I could have thrown out, donated or fit into my luggage. Before I wasted twenty-five minutes (minutes counted on the taxi metre too) on the day of departure filling out their paperwork - by which time it was too late to get more cash.
What the hell is it with this country's weird attitude towards credit and debit cards?
Edit (September 12): This was written on the coach after running to get a ticket and get on board, while feeling hassled/embarrassed/panicky. At this point, I had no idea how I would get past check-in at Heathrow with three extra boxes of stuff. As it turned out, I had to take twenty minutes to cut open the boxes, weed out what I thought I could sacrifice, stuff everything else into my luggage and ask an airport employee to take the boxes and extra possessions away to throw away or donate.
I thought I'd still be okay with 1.5 hours to check in but no, the screen said "Gate Closing" while I was still at Passport Control. Following the controller's instructions to "get my skates on"[1], I speedwalked and (where possible) ran what was usually a twenty minute's walk to the gate... where I waited in line for at least fifteen minutes before boarding. "Gate Closing," my ass.
[1] A quaint British term, it turns out. At the time, I thought it was a somewhat puzzling metaphor he'd made up himself.
All this would have been nice to know before I packed stuff into boxes that I could have thrown out, donated or fit into my luggage. Before I wasted twenty-five minutes (minutes counted on the taxi metre too) on the day of departure filling out their paperwork - by which time it was too late to get more cash.
What the hell is it with this country's weird attitude towards credit and debit cards?
Edit (September 12): This was written on the coach after running to get a ticket and get on board, while feeling hassled/embarrassed/panicky. At this point, I had no idea how I would get past check-in at Heathrow with three extra boxes of stuff. As it turned out, I had to take twenty minutes to cut open the boxes, weed out what I thought I could sacrifice, stuff everything else into my luggage and ask an airport employee to take the boxes and extra possessions away to throw away or donate.
I thought I'd still be okay with 1.5 hours to check in but no, the screen said "Gate Closing" while I was still at Passport Control. Following the controller's instructions to "get my skates on"[1], I speedwalked and (where possible) ran what was usually a twenty minute's walk to the gate... where I waited in line for at least fifteen minutes before boarding. "Gate Closing," my ass.
[1] A quaint British term, it turns out. At the time, I thought it was a somewhat puzzling metaphor he'd made up himself.