oh crap
Well, short story is longer than the long story and the long story has too many letters in it. Needless to say, fingers would be fucking achy by the end of that accounting. So here's the pitch...
Idiot opens account at Bank of Scotland in attempt to transfer money to US account to prevent overdraft. Teller has incredible cold and is taking way too long. Idiot goes to butcher across the street to get a yummy steak and kidney pie (still fresh, still warm) and then over to the best Whisky Store in the Entire Universe. Upon returning to the bank we find that it's closed for lunch and the teller who isn't sick says no sweat, we'll send it all to you in the states and you can make your deposit at the next branch! Of course!
Idiot leaves town, happy driving through the Scottish Highlands touring the best of the Scotch Whiskey and eating all the haggis I can find. Much later he realizes that his passport is still with the branch in Inverary and luckily it's also a bank holiday. As Idiot frantically tries to reach Inverary branch of Bank of Scotland, he is put through to the Inverurie branch and is shit out of luck. Apparently my English sucks.
BUT! The teller I spoke to there, Dawn, knows the manager of the Inverary Branch and, on a Saturday, gets said manager to go straight to the bank and get my passport and take it to the police. The station there is unfortunately unmanned (?) and passport is sent to Oban. A lovely town on the Western coast with an incredible distillery that cooks a whisky named, appropriately, Oban. For some inexplicable reason the constabulary there actually has constables in it. (In an apparent contradiction to standard practice)
The passport remains there until I can locate a courier who tells me that I can either pay 500 pounds (950 clams) to have the item shipped straight to me, or I can spend the same amount fucking around London and wait until the thing comes on Wednesday or Thursday for 70 pounds (140 clams). Wisely Idiot chooses London.
Remembers later about how his car is still parked in the expensive lot at LAX and poops self in perfectly innocent pub. (It was only supposed to be a three day trip! Now it's been eleven days. At 30 clams a day. Idiot phones to appeal to the kindness of the manager of the parking lot and forgets that it's three am in the morning. They are unsympathetic. Calls are planned for a reasonable hour.
Could be worse. I could have caught a flu from all the whisky and rain. Oh wait, I did that too.
The nice part, and you should pay particular attention here, is that haggis is fucking yummy. Totally tummy bendingly yummy.
pics in the pic spot.
Well, short story is longer than the long story and the long story has too many letters in it. Needless to say, fingers would be fucking achy by the end of that accounting. So here's the pitch...
Idiot opens account at Bank of Scotland in attempt to transfer money to US account to prevent overdraft. Teller has incredible cold and is taking way too long. Idiot goes to butcher across the street to get a yummy steak and kidney pie (still fresh, still warm) and then over to the best Whisky Store in the Entire Universe. Upon returning to the bank we find that it's closed for lunch and the teller who isn't sick says no sweat, we'll send it all to you in the states and you can make your deposit at the next branch! Of course!
Idiot leaves town, happy driving through the Scottish Highlands touring the best of the Scotch Whiskey and eating all the haggis I can find. Much later he realizes that his passport is still with the branch in Inverary and luckily it's also a bank holiday. As Idiot frantically tries to reach Inverary branch of Bank of Scotland, he is put through to the Inverurie branch and is shit out of luck. Apparently my English sucks.
BUT! The teller I spoke to there, Dawn, knows the manager of the Inverary Branch and, on a Saturday, gets said manager to go straight to the bank and get my passport and take it to the police. The station there is unfortunately unmanned (?) and passport is sent to Oban. A lovely town on the Western coast with an incredible distillery that cooks a whisky named, appropriately, Oban. For some inexplicable reason the constabulary there actually has constables in it. (In an apparent contradiction to standard practice)
The passport remains there until I can locate a courier who tells me that I can either pay 500 pounds (950 clams) to have the item shipped straight to me, or I can spend the same amount fucking around London and wait until the thing comes on Wednesday or Thursday for 70 pounds (140 clams). Wisely Idiot chooses London.
Remembers later about how his car is still parked in the expensive lot at LAX and poops self in perfectly innocent pub. (It was only supposed to be a three day trip! Now it's been eleven days. At 30 clams a day. Idiot phones to appeal to the kindness of the manager of the parking lot and forgets that it's three am in the morning. They are unsympathetic. Calls are planned for a reasonable hour.
Could be worse. I could have caught a flu from all the whisky and rain. Oh wait, I did that too.
The nice part, and you should pay particular attention here, is that haggis is fucking yummy. Totally tummy bendingly yummy.
pics in the pic spot.