Driving Lesson

Ha ha... ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife eh? Isn't it ironic that after railing against the inadequacies of the bouncer, I get a call yesterday offering me a job as... yep! a security guard! And what a great sounding job it was: guarding a film set from five in the morning to evening, twelve hours with nothing to do but read, write, ponder and paint. I quite fancy myself as a security officer, single handedly thwarting the dark powers plotting to corrupt the cinematic forces fighting all evil; although I'd have fled like a kitten at the first sign of trouble. But I lost out. I was outrageously disqualified due to my non-vehicular handling ability, my lack of motorised relocation capacity. Ok ok so I don't drive. Never! I choose not to indulge in the petrol driven consumption of our environment. I have taken umbrage at the extortionate level of road tax levied on this country's fractious economy... I.. uh... I... well, I don't exactly actually know how. At least, not legally. So? What's the big deal? I grew up in London! Everyone lives on top of each other! Open space is a long forgotten urban legend! It's quicker to walk to work than drive, and if you do that you might not make it anyway, saving you the trouble. Worst case you'll probably get a ride in an ambulance. Goddamnit. I think I'll take my case to the office of discrimination for the transportationally challenged. You're out of order! This whole system's out of order!