just call me whatever-it-is
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
What a day. It began with a doctor's visit (to get my shoulder looked at, now that I actually have medical coverage again). This led to a visit to the X-ray lab, where I forgot that I had two rolls of film (yet to be developed) in my pocket and merrily lay down on the table with them still there (surely ruining them).
Then I eventually got home, and decided to call the outfit in Vancouver where my stuff is stored.
They lost my stuff. It took half an hour of heated exchanges before it turned up; it all came down to an inability by the fellow who runs the site to spell or pronounce my last name (at one point, he called me "Mister Whatever-it-is"!). When the movers arrived with my stuff, it seems that they gave him my name, and he couldn't get it right and decided that I hadn't arranged for a storage space, but was dumping a locker-full of crap on them unpaid. As a stop-gap measure they put me in a different unit. And then they tried to find a Mr. Walberg, which was as close as he could come to my name. I even vaguely recall getting a call for a Walberg in early October when everything was going awry in Vancouver. Naturally, I told the party they had the wrong number! Jebus, what a bad half-hour that was. The guy is a moron!
Wednesdays are generally better than this.