I don't get angry easily, but my fuck if I'm not going to go to Home Affairs tomorrow morning and throw my toys so far out the cot, those incompetent fuckwits won't know what hit them.
And let them try and be unhelpful or surly or patronising.
How hard can it be? Fill in 'Addition of name' form. Jade Cooke should now become Jade Taylor Cooke (my sort of second name that Mum only half settled on, and has therefore never been in any official documents). Simultaneously apply for new ID book, so name reads Jade Taylor Cooke (accompanied by more recent picture of me where I have discovered the flattering nature of a fringe, and learned not to over-pluck my eyebrows as in previous ID picture of fifteen-year-old, somewhat awkward self).
Called to check on application status today. Not only do they suddenly say it takes between six and eight months for a new ID book (I'm sorry? you said four months four months ago. fucker.), but I thought it decidedly odd this woman kept calling me Taylor.
Well fuck me if Home We're-so-fucking-inefficient-we-couldn't-find-our-own-asses-if-you-showed-us-a-map Affairs has not cocked the whole bloody lot up, and changed my name to Taylor Cooke.
Do you KNOW what this means if I don't straighten them out? I won't exist. I can say goodbye to my bank account, my medical aid, my IRP5 form, the whole lot.
And now, thank you very much, have to be up and in Wynberg at the crack of seven am tomorrow morning.
Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
Oh the wrath...
(Sorry about all the 'fuck')
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