First World Problems Part Deux

So here I am again, complaining, like my previous post on In-Flight-Entertainment-Regret which isn't a regret at all really as any writing for this keeps my friends and family informed and my Mum happy. 

Things are getting ridiculous though. There are many ridiculous things in Londontown.

Notice also that I am denigrating my own complaints by calling them First world problems. Which they totally are. 

Today was the day that I attended a scheduled, pre-arranged appointment with a bank I am already a customer of in Melbourne.

No such appointment existed. 

They then proceeded to refuse my scanned, signed letter from my new employer. They then proceeded to ask me a million questions, my six previous addresses and my tax number in Australia. 

Then I proceeded to go to a site visit for one of my new projects. Again, no such appointment existed. 

In commuting to these futile missions I compiled a black list in my head of stupid, avoidable First World Problems that I have encountered in my time here. 

Signed documents. Surely we have progressed enough that a digital signature is sufficient. 

Fax machines. Again, surely we have progressed enough so that these ancient beasts are all shipped off to a museum where they belong. 

Stationery orders. Surely we have progressed enough so that the Office Managers in our work places can't wield their power at whim when we ask them to do basic functions of their roles. Still need those USB sticks though... and sadly I still print. Project schedules are only readable in A3, and my job is to essentially, sell the schedule. I will employ any means necessary.

Meetings. Surely since London is so old fashioned (see above) she would be old fashioned enough to apply the sacred rule of honouring an agreed, prearranged appointment. 

My Amex card. It's not accepted everywhere, even (and especially) if a salesperson says it is. 

Cobblestones. They hurt my feet. They are particularly unpleasant in high heels and on flat shoes that are filled up with rain. I used to struggle in Temple Bar, Dublin and I'm struggling now (as I work in Covent Garden, London).

Printers. Although my transition into my new workplace was relatively smooth, I had to jump through hoops to get my printer working. I was astonished that the person I share an office with has been here three weeks and hasn't got her own printer sorted, even though the ink was sitting on a shelf in the next room. 

Having two smartphones, one Android, one Apple. Like OMG what do I do. Learn different operating systems I guess. 

Note: I love my new job and everyone is lovely, in the unlikely scenario they read this. First World Problems, these are not supposed to be taken seriously. 

But wait, I have more. 

Vegan food. It's simple. Nothing from an animal. This includes mayo and sour cream. Yes I know, mindblowing isn't it?

Privacy discussions. You will get funny looks at the bank if you take note of the epic proportions of data sharing between agencies in the UK and you will get funny looks if you joke about getting your own security questions wrong. 'Har har only kidding folks, I have nothing to hide, keep calm and carry on...' seriously. I have nothing to hide. 

Can we all remember that this institution will make money out of me, the customer?

A lack of public toilets. Here in the Developed World, where we are advised by our state-of-the-art doctors to drink two litres of water a day, there are no fucking public toilets. They mostly exist in pubs where I have purchased a lovely Australian red just to use their facilities. The irony of having to drink a diuretic to use the loo is not lost on me. 

Walking on the right lane through revolving doors, on escalators and public transport underground routes, but driving in the left lane?! 

That's it, the European influence has spiraled out of control; it's time to Brexit ourselves out of here. 

Humidity and rainy weather. Is it hot? Is it cold? Why am I sweating in my summer dress when it's cloudy outside? This is a huge injustice! I demand weather clarity! I did not come from Auckland and Melbourne to suffer through Four Seasons in One Day, again. Clearly this is my fate and I should work for the Bureau of Meteorology instead.

Speaking of...

Public sector jobs. Yes I know, boo hoo, safe lovely jobs with perks and a community-minded socially aware workforce. 

Also places where dreams and creativity sometimes go to die. A long, excrutiating and slow death masked by the shadow of IT and procurement requests and former Deputy Prime Ministers who claim that LGBTI people can in fact choose, but they themselves 'can't choose who they fall in love with.' (WTAF - if you need me to spell out that acronym for you I won't.)

I am completely OK with all my bosses, previous and current, reading this. I know they all agree. 

Thank you for reading my pathetic problems. 

Work is done for the day, time to find somewhere to live; a problem everyone on this planet can relate to.