10.30 this morning; my office, London. The phone rings. It’s my managing director:MD: Uh, D, I’ve got H here from Accounts. Apparently you hired a car back in August for company business?
I rack my brains. Oh yes, I did hire a car. I would have happily taken the train to the back and beyond of the English countryside, but every time I do so, I end up spending ALL of Saturday taking long, circuitous routes around the whole country as every single railway line apparently needs to be repaired on the days I use the train. When the tracks themselves are ok, the train usually breaks down. So yes, I hired a car.
MD: Apparently, you were caught driving in a bus lane? You have incurred a penalty charge of £85.
Me: WHATTTT???????
MD: There’s a picture here of the car.
Me: Splutter! Rant! Bloody penalty charge people!
MD: Uh, I’ll just send H down to you. She will give you the notice, and you can, um, uh… appeal or deal with it or whatever
“…or deal with it or whatever”?????? £85? Eighty five pounds? EIGHTY FIVE POUNDS? I am NOT paying it. I am NOT paying £85. I have not got £85. I am very sorry, but I travel the world sans cesse for this bloody company, and when I submit my expenses, I never charge so much as an extra apple to the company. I have a (male, middle-aged, of course) colleague who openly watches porn in hotels he stays at and charges it to the company. I rarely take taxis on company business (in Hong Kong last week, I took the Metro everywhere). I will happily (well, unhappily actually, but fairly graciously) take indirect flights if it means I will keep within my travel budget. I don’t eat dinner or drink alcohol, which saves the company an enormous amount of money, especially compared to my gluttonous, bordering-on-alcoholic colleagues.
AND THEY WANT ME TO PAY AN EIGHTY FIVE POUND BLOODY PENALTY CHARGE?
No bloody way.
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