A day-off

Today is that kind of day. First, you wake up late. Then you spill your cereal on the kitchen floor. And you find out that you've run out of paper towel. So you quickly clean it up and take a shower. You have a lot of errands today, the first being going to the bank, naturally. You get there - yay there is no line - but then the bank teller tells you that the service you're after does not exist. With a dejected facial expression, you limp away from the counter towards the exit. Then you remember that while there, you also have to change your address. You turn around and see that, out of nowhere, there are now at least five people in the line. After a 10-minute lull that seems like 40 minutes, it's your turn. The bank now knowing where you really live, you happily walk out of the bank towards your next destination: a bank that offers the first service you're after. Logically, you pick the most popular bank. There, a bank teller greets you and asks how you are, but in a tone that suggests that he doesn't care about his job, nor about you. He then proceeds with telling you that you need to go to another part of the branch to request that service. You go there and voila, there is no one. A little note on the glass window asks you to go to the receptionist, strangely situated further inside the room. You explain what you need and then you are sent back to the window to wait for someone to be dispatched there. You twiddle your index finger on the counter top. Just because. Then a face appears behind the window. It's the same person that greets you beforehand. He tells you that the other person is not available. That's okay. What matter is that finally, someone will take care of you. Or not. The most popular bank , you are told, does not offer that service either. Try the bank next door, he says. This time with a genuine smile. You feel a little better. It's true that happiness is contagious, isn't it? Walking to the bank next door, you start putting together the introduction of a letter of feedback to your bank. Which quickly gets shelved, because finally, finally you find a bank that can give you what you need. The teller seems to be on another planet, though. It is not after two torn cheques later that you have what you need neatly tucked in your bag. Perhaps she is having the same kind of day as you. After a brief feeling of relief, you realize that your errands are far from over. You have only just ticked off the first item on your list. Next, you need to get yourself two passport photos. Tired of walking around, you go straight to the information desk. You want to know where the instant photo booth is. You see two men at the desk. One is serving a customer on a wheelchair. One of those that tells you that the user has far more troubles than just not being able to walk. You stand in front of the other staff that is not occupied. His attention is on the wheelchaired customer. Finally, he realizes that you are there. You say hi. Not saying anything first but smiling, he points to the writing on his t-shirt. You don't get it. And after awhile he gets that you don't get it. "Promotions," you hear him say. Your question is not about promotions, so you take your place behind the wheelchair. Another introduction to a letter of feedback pops into your head. Then you spot it. The photo both is on the ground floor, next to the ice cream shop. You take the stairs down quickly, congratulating yourself on your sharp eyesight. As you get nearer, you notice that the booth looks unusually artsy. Is this how they make photo booths these days? Yes, it turns out, if the photo you are after is your own caricature version. You nearly kick the otherwise innocent photo booth. Nearby, thankfully, is an information board. Good, there is another photo booth in the building. Even better, it's close to the post office, your final destination. Finally, everything falls into place. You go inside the booth, take off your bulky jacket and comb your hair. You skim through the instructions quickly. You don't really understand, but then you think, what's not to understand about instant photo booths? So you insert two $2 coins into the slot. Next you press the green button, while keeping your eyes fixed on the instructions, to really make sure that you are doing it right. The next thing you know, a flash light floods the room, catching your face in the process. Shit. Is that it? you think. Before you know it, the machine has gone to work to fulfil its advertised 3-minute promise. You frantically look for some sort of cancel button. There is none. You curse yourself rudely, hoping that your facial expression that appears on the photo is still within the acceptable range of what the Canadian Consulate General allows. "The face must be square to the camera with a neutral expression, neither frowning nor smiling, with the mouth closed." The result comes very close, but you decide to throw it away. Though not mentioned in the rule, you are certain that a confused expression with upward looking nostrils featuring in the photo will do more harm than good to your application. By this time, you are totally, unapologetically upset with your day. But you go on. You have no choice. You ask at the pharmacy if they do passport photos. They don't, but there is a shop in the building next door that does. So you go there. Yes, the place does do passport photos. In fact, it's the only thing that it does. No grey areas there. You pay the $14 fee and sulkily sit yourself on the stool. Click. It's done. The guy shows you the result. You look like a lettuce. But you don't care. You just want to go home. One last thing to do. The post office. You put the documents in the envelope and watch the guy seal it, stick a registered post label on it, and you sigh a big relief. Finally it's over. You start walking out of the post office. For what can be classified as a miracle though, something tells you to stop and check again. Has everything indeed been put in the envelope? You quickly realize that the answer is no. You frantically go back to the counter. The guy hands you back the envelope. You put the forgotten item in, all the while thinking what else might you be forgetting. You double and triple check everything. Satisfied, you walk out of the post office and out of the building. You head home. Hungry, tired and cold. It has started to snow again. A lot. Back at home, you sit down and drink a glass of water. You smile and say to yourself, "I made it." Then a jolt. You realize you have forgotten to buy an onion.