Last week Gord told me that he hadn't been able to set up his account for automatic withdrawl because he hadn't had his checkbook on him.

No worries, I dropped off a check for the full amount and spoke to someone from our rental agency and instructed them to only withdraw the check, not the pre-authorized amount.

I spoke to someone at the agency. It was all good. I thought nothing more of it.

... So here is how today went:

Got to work. Worked a bit.

Thought "I should check my bank balance" and found out I'm in the negative.

I shouldn't be in the negative.

Look, and guess what. Both payments were processed.

Fuck.

Call Rental Agency, bicker. Bicker more.

Fax over copy of bank statement showing that, yes, they both went through.

Leave work.

Wait for the one bus that goes to the agency, board the bus.

Spend forever getting there.

Meet with woman. Deal with woman.

Get check from snotty receptionist.

Miss bus.

Walk for 45 minutes back downtown because it's faster and more efficient than transit.

Go to the bank to cash the check.

Realize I don't have my bank card.

Fuck.

Go home. Can't find bank card.

Fuck.

Book it to the TD on Portage and Main.

Get new bank card.

Deposit cheque.

Buy groceries from The Bay.

Book it home.

Have internet installed by prompt, friendly, cute Shaw Cable employee.

Eat a bagel.

Rest my sore feet and exhausted mind.

And I still have more running around to do.

Can someone carry me, please?