Glass houses

I will admit that I’m a little scratchy today. Aside from reacting to the over-the-top pollen count, I had to burn the entire morning in a government office to renew a permit of sorts. I won’t bore you with detail, but it was basically something that I tried to handle in the prescribed way by email, but was rejected because this department changed specs and inadvertently invalidated some of what they had previously sanctioned. Fixing the glitch never occurred to them.

I tried to supply the required information by email and then phone, but they insisted I come in. Let’s see, which makes more sense; I transmit the information and they email or mail me the new number, or I drive a couple hours, supply the same data and wait a couple more for the wheels to grind?

During the wait, I’m treated to the gleeful chuckles of the receptionist surfing her favorite web sites. My tax dollars at work. She looked up and asked if I read “Stuff My Father Says” or whatever it is. I reply in the negative and she says I should try it.

I did when it started cropping up all over the web. The first item I read was enough. He related something “stupid” his father said (assuming it was his father and not a metaphorical generation gap thing) in response to his request to borrow a pair of underwear.

Excuse me? You can’t even manage your underwear supply, but it’s your father who’s the stupid one? I have better sources of wisdom, thank you.