Queens of the Stone Age

I have spent a total of 1 hour and 45 minutes unnecessarily waiting in a doctor’s surgery today. As per usual, there was a problem with my prescription (no, seriously – this happens every month, without fail), which meant that it had not been signed, and was relegated to the back of the collection box with the rest of the not-entirely-straightforward-therefore-completely-incomprehensible-to-medical-staff slips. After politely disagreeing with the receptionist that the fault here was not mine, I was told I’d need to see the emergency doctor if I wanted the prescription that day, and to take a seat. Forty five minutes go by, and I think: ‘well this is bollocks. How near am I to the top of the list?’ – not very, actually, seeing as she’d forgotten to put my name down. The receptionist thinks this is quite funny. I wait a further hour to actually see someone, who then takes all of 10 seconds to realise that “oh, yes; they’ve obviously just not checked your notes before refusing it.” Yes, dear, that is the problem I have been having. She also needed to use the calculator on her brand new iPhone 5 (can’t be too fucking worried about your pension, then) to do a simple piece of maths that I did in my head, in quicker time. FFS! To stop me from turning into She-Hulk, I came home and played my equivalent of a calm-down and relax tune: a nice bit of QOTSA. Heavy enough to dispel the rage, but not so much as to induce an ear-bleed situation. Marvellously restorative.