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Summer is coming, which, in the U.S., means the opening of pool season. My apt has a pool. Instead of just giving us the pool tags, we have to go over to the office to get them.
But the office doesn't handle it. I have repeatedly tried to make arrangements to pick up my pool tags at a time other than the "official" ones, because the hours are always at night. No daytime hours.
guess what, peeps. I work nights. I cannot leave work. I cannot take off work in order to come pick up a laminated piece of cardboard on a pin. I'm saving lives here, you're passing out pool tags. I outrank you.
Well, every year, I have had to conscript a neighbor into picking up my pool tags. I haven't seen any of my neighbors this past week to ask them if they'd do it for me.
Luckily, because I worked the weekend, I had today off, so I was able to get over to pick up the tags. Or, as it turned out, tag.
When I get there, they are savaging a deaf man because they are unable to figure out what he is saying ... he didn't voice well, and they were just plain stupid, but I waited.
I hand over my paperwork.
drone: there are two names here but only one signature on the form.
wolf: it is difficult to get the deceased to sign things.
drone: then why are there two names here on my sheet?
wolf: I really couldn't tell you.
WTF? A simple platitude of sympathy would have suffiiced.
And so, I only got one pool tag. Every other non-momwolf year, I've gotten two tags.
I have more than one swimsuit, and can't guarantee that I'll remember to move the tag, you know?
Chances are I won't even set foot in the pool, but I have the tag, just in case.
Oh, and I can't use my two courtesy guest passes unless I am actually present with my guest.
They couldnt' figure out that the deaf guy had to sign his form along with his not dead mother, either. He was still there after I left.
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