Queue to nowhere
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There are things normal people can manage during the day which I can no longer humanly tolerate. Going to the supermarket is one of them, and embarking on a pilgrimage to the bank is another. Praise the universe, the former can now be done at the dead of nighQueue to nowhere
There are things normal people can manage during the day which I can no longer humanly tolerate. Going to the supermarket is one of them, and embarking on a pilgrimage to the bank is another. Praise the universe, the former can now be done at the dead of night, but as for the other, the unabating torment continues. A couple of weeks ago I had to go to the bank in person instead of happily interacting with a machine the way I usually do. Since everyone only sees fit to physically accept and cash cheques Cinderella-like till midday (because apparently all of us are gainfully unemployed and have two spare hours to spend at the bank before lunch), I was only able to go to the bank on Saturday. I arose nice and early to get there before the morning rush, but alas, I was wrong and how wrong I was. So, I get to the bank; the queue is snaking outside the front door. I cannot see inside and a policeman is huffing and puffing between me and the glass door. He’s looking as fed up as I feel and I’m pretty sure that he’s about to tell us all to “Moove beck, plijs”. It’s a 15-minute wait just to get inside but I am determined; I have left the comfort of my pillow palace for this and I will... Read more














