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My feet are killing me.
Today, because I needed a break from the sandals-that-are-good-but-not-totally-comfortable-to-walk-in-for-hours, I wore these very cute little black shoes with square toes and big chunky heels. I've worn them a couple of times before, both times with nylons, and I've been fine. Today, with bare feet, I had rubbed the skin at the back completely raw by the time I got to work, and then I had to lug four flats of boxes down to shipping (which, (a) if I'd remembered this was happening, I would have worn different shoes and clothes that weren't black and dust catching, and (b) ow, those damn boxes were heavy), all of which resulted in my feet looking like someone took a cheese grater to them. I've used up the last of my band-aid supply, but I'm pretty sure the 3 minute walk to the drugstore will be the death of me, and I'm not entirely sure I can even make it downstairs to get lunch, let alone do the errands I had intended to do after work.
Stupid shoes. Stupid me. Stupid job that won't let me wear bare feet every day.
Which brings me to why I hate the government. Or, actually, go back to the second sentence, the bit about needing a break from my sandals, my sadness about which has already been documented.
I needed a government publication. My choices were either go somewhere not particularly close by to buy it, or order it online, pay the $2 shipping, and have it sent right to my house. I went with the second, since the first would have probably meant skipping out on something so that I could go after work one day. I was being good, and not bailing on the gym! Tuesday, I get home, and there's a thingy stuck to the door of my apartment building, saying that Canpar had been by with a package for me, but no-one was home, so they couldn't deliver it. They'll try again tomorrow morning, they say, or I can tell them a safe place to put it, and they'll drop it off. Otherwise, it'll get sent back to the shipper.
So I have to say, what's wrong with using Canada Post? At least that way packages just go to the post office up the street, where they know me by name because I'm never home to get my mail and my mail box is too small to fit anything bigger than Entertainment Weekly. Instead, people use these stupid courier companies that mean I end up having to pick things up myself anyway, or go through convoluted contortions and extra money to get them sent to work instead of home.
Anyway, I called Canpar, and they said sure I can pick it up (which means basically I just paid $2 so that I could pick it up at the shipping company instead of at the GovDocs store - bite me), and the office is at Queen's Quay and Parliament, which, for once, is not in a different area code, and in fact is not that far from where I work.
Or so I thought. It looked like it was maybe a 1/2 hour walk. Of course, yesterday was probably the hottest day of the year so far, or at least the day most likely to kill you through smog inhalation, but I was determined - pop down there, pick up the package, head back to the subway, make it to dance class by 6. I had a good hour and fifteen, which seemed like plenty of time to me.
An hour later, walking on the wrong side of a seriously busy street with no lights and no crosswalk (and no sidewalks - hello, gravel), I started to question my wisdom. I found the place and nearly got restrained by the guards when I tried to walk in without checking in at the guard box (which I didn't see since it was blocked by the biggest truck I have ever encountered), but I did eventually get my package, and found my way back to somewhere that I could get a bus, by which point my feet were very sore, and I was completely covered in sweat. And so late for class that there was really no point in going.
Oh, and on the way I passed by one more Loblaw's...which also didn't have the elusive cereal. Of course.
Today, because I needed a break from the sandals-that-are-good-but-not-totally-comfortable-to-walk-in-for-hours, I wore these very cute little black shoes with square toes and big chunky heels. I've worn them a couple of times before, both times with nylons, and I've been fine. Today, with bare feet, I had rubbed the skin at the back completely raw by the time I got to work, and then I had to lug four flats of boxes down to shipping (which, (a) if I'd remembered this was happening, I would have worn different shoes and clothes that weren't black and dust catching, and (b) ow, those damn boxes were heavy), all of which resulted in my feet looking like someone took a cheese grater to them. I've used up the last of my band-aid supply, but I'm pretty sure the 3 minute walk to the drugstore will be the death of me, and I'm not entirely sure I can even make it downstairs to get lunch, let alone do the errands I had intended to do after work.
Stupid shoes. Stupid me. Stupid job that won't let me wear bare feet every day.
Which brings me to why I hate the government. Or, actually, go back to the second sentence, the bit about needing a break from my sandals, my sadness about which has already been documented.
I needed a government publication. My choices were either go somewhere not particularly close by to buy it, or order it online, pay the $2 shipping, and have it sent right to my house. I went with the second, since the first would have probably meant skipping out on something so that I could go after work one day. I was being good, and not bailing on the gym! Tuesday, I get home, and there's a thingy stuck to the door of my apartment building, saying that Canpar had been by with a package for me, but no-one was home, so they couldn't deliver it. They'll try again tomorrow morning, they say, or I can tell them a safe place to put it, and they'll drop it off. Otherwise, it'll get sent back to the shipper.
So I have to say, what's wrong with using Canada Post? At least that way packages just go to the post office up the street, where they know me by name because I'm never home to get my mail and my mail box is too small to fit anything bigger than Entertainment Weekly. Instead, people use these stupid courier companies that mean I end up having to pick things up myself anyway, or go through convoluted contortions and extra money to get them sent to work instead of home.
Anyway, I called Canpar, and they said sure I can pick it up (which means basically I just paid $2 so that I could pick it up at the shipping company instead of at the GovDocs store - bite me), and the office is at Queen's Quay and Parliament, which, for once, is not in a different area code, and in fact is not that far from where I work.
Or so I thought. It looked like it was maybe a 1/2 hour walk. Of course, yesterday was probably the hottest day of the year so far, or at least the day most likely to kill you through smog inhalation, but I was determined - pop down there, pick up the package, head back to the subway, make it to dance class by 6. I had a good hour and fifteen, which seemed like plenty of time to me.
An hour later, walking on the wrong side of a seriously busy street with no lights and no crosswalk (and no sidewalks - hello, gravel), I started to question my wisdom. I found the place and nearly got restrained by the guards when I tried to walk in without checking in at the guard box (which I didn't see since it was blocked by the biggest truck I have ever encountered), but I did eventually get my package, and found my way back to somewhere that I could get a bus, by which point my feet were very sore, and I was completely covered in sweat. And so late for class that there was really no point in going.
Oh, and on the way I passed by one more Loblaw's...which also didn't have the elusive cereal. Of course.