August 27, 2016
I opened my heavy eyelids by the loud alarm at 8:30 this morning. I set it because the delivery company opens at 8:30.
I called them in bed with my groggy voice, asked them if I could rearrange the delivery today. The woman transferred me to a man at the depot, and he said he couldn’t deliver today and I could pick them up myself if I wanted, they close at 1pm today. He said I need to bring an ID and the proof of address. God damn it! The proof of address again! I haven’t got one for God’s sake! There are people from all over the world trying to get a flat and open a bank account and they all ask this fxxxxxx proof of address! How could we have one? We just arrived in this country!
I told about this to Margaret hoping she might give me her electricity bill and of course she said no. She said this is not my proof of address anyway and she wouldn’t give her proof of address to anyone for this kind of reason. Yes she is absolutely right, that’s not my proof of address. But if I was her, I would write a short letter saying I live at her address at the moment and sign it, just to make it easy. Even, I would offer a lift to pick up the boxes. I had this kind of kindness and help from so many people in Australia, but why not here in UK? Is it just her? She is totally fine and ok when she is not bothered, but she is not a kind person. Looks like she doesn’t have any empathy. Well, I really hope it’s just her, I would like to meet good and kind people here.
I got ready and went to the depot, gave the ticket number to the guy, and he asked for my ID only! Phew…. I prepared myself what to say and what to do in case he asked for the proof of address, but thankfully he didn’t. I got my boxes and called Uber, and the driver was kind enough not to say anything about boxes and helped me to put boxes in his car. Back home and I carried boxes to upstairs, and Margaret didn’t even look out to see.
Hell, I don’t feel good here anymore, I’ve got one more week to go.