Okay so today I went to go vote in the upcoming NZ elections. I trundled down to the New Zealand Consulate near Piccadilly Circus with a couple of old-school Dunedin friends, Liz Sherrif and Danny Vincent O. We saw a few “trad” London sights on the way.
So once in the building we had a bit of chuckle listening to all the other plonker NZ accents (of which I myself am also guilty of possessing), and went ahead and voted.
Afterwards I inquired at the desk if I could fill up my water bottle from their cooler. The ladies behind the desk politely informed me that they didn't have a cooler, and suggested that I ask nicely at the neighboring Air New Zealand office for usage of theirs. So I ambled up the stairs to their office, walked through the doors, and coyly asked whether I could fill up my water bottle.
“Are you an Air New Zealand customer?” the travel agent loudly asked in some kind of northern European accent.
“Uh, no,” I sheepishly replied, somewhat in shock.
“Then no, no you can't,” he shouted, wildly gesturing that I should get out. So I left, angry and humiliated, all the while regretting not saying things like “well you're not a New Zealander, so fuck you!” among others.
I was so fucked off at being treated like some kind of hobo from the street, the kind that walks into offices asking for a light, or at least a few paperclips.
Anyways I instructed Liz and Danny to leave the building, then I walked up to the glass office windows, and took a photo of the cunt. Yea! And now your on the internet arsehole. Fuck you and your stupid NZ airline. The food's shit, and the airhostesses are dowdy.
I've said my piece, now I can carry on spreading my CV like a pornstar's seed all over the information superhighway.