I called the tax office today. They'd written me a letter demanding money with thinly veiled threats. Adorable puppies would be drowned, fluffy kittens thrown to hungry wolves. That kind of thing.
Being highy efficient about such things (or, more honestly, as a way of avoiding doing some proper work) I'd dealt with all this months ago and so called the helpline. Judging by her voice, a lady of advanced years answered the phone. Although she said her name was Julia, to me she was instantly and forever Ms. Jobsworth.
"Hi," I began, "I've got this letter saying I owed money to the Inland Revenue"
She: "Yes?"
Me: "Well, I dealt with all this months ago. I don't know why I have this new letter"
She (deep sigh): "The computer wouldn't have sent you a letter if it wasn't necessary"
Me: "But I don't know why. Can you check if you received my last tax return?"
She: "If we had received the return you wouldn't have got the letter. The computer doesn't make mistakes"
Me: "Could you check? Please?"
She: "I said the computer doesn't make mistakes, sir"
Me: "Please?"
She (another deep sigh, finished with a 'tch'): "I'll check. What is your reference number?"
I gave her the number.
Time passed.
She: "Er. The system appears to be down at the moment. I can't open your file"
Me: "This would be the computer that doesn't make mistakes, yes?"
She: "...yes..."
My life is so tragically small that I live for moments like this.
