some days...

Some days I wish I could operate a rocket launcher, to over-injure officials who annoy me. Why do you treat me like a convict? I'm allowed to have a hairstyle change, I can dress differently, it's called human change. Unlike you, paper approval lady, who probably have been keeping the same hairstyle since you were sixteen, I like trying out different looks. My passport is not fake because it's handwritten, on the contrary it's harder to fake it because it's bloody hand-written. And you're asking me to double-print papers which I can safely say will end up on your rubbish skip within two hours, just because "it's not written there". So stop being a bloody arsehole and make me jump through hoops of fire. Unless you like your job that is, in which case keep on carrying the torture until the company finds someone sharper and prettier and it will be your turn to end up on the skip.

At which point, probably I shouldn't worry about printing extra papers because you will keep them company in the end.

On days like these it surely feels better to be in the folds of family.
(I wonder if it's some January/February thing I go through every year... hmmm...)