There are things in life that are certain. Paying taxes, dying, and me making a fool of myself. Now while I was hoping my life of misfortune events stayed behind in Canada, I always seem to even surprise myself at how it’s possible to turn a simple everyday task into the longest possible nightmare imaginable.

In my last post, I described my final days at HOK. I guess I never mentioned where I went because I didn’t really think it mattered because I am just a personality on the Internet. But I moved to England.

I had been thinking that this move really was my chance to kind of grow up, or as my HR lady therapist says: “To set your own path to greatness.” Which of course I still don’t understand. But I shook my head in appreciation and said that I am fortunate that I don’t have to pay her for her services.

But I’ve been here almost two weeks now. I left Canada with basically the shirt on my back, and two debit/Visa cards that don’t work outside of Canada. For all the talk about this world shrinking because of advanced communications and international corporations/partners, what they don’t tell you is that once you leave the confines of your local branch you’re on your own. Seriously, though, it’s a load of crap when a business/company tells you that they are ‘one’ throughout the world.

Take for instance Western Union.

It’s Thursday morning. I haven’t eaten in two days because the 30 pounds (45 U.S. dollars) I brought with me ran out, and I was thinking about starting a Harry Potter tour company to hold me over. So I beg my parents to send their son some money. Which of course, by law, the parents are forced to do. So they send money through Western Union, and I just have to go pick it up.  I was actually pretty giddy with glee at the thought of not being broke.

So I run to the local Western Union. Guy with one eye says, “I don’t have enough money in my till. Go to the one across the street on the right.”

I leave kind of disappointed, and approach the next store. Same story: “I don’t have enough money, go to the one across the street on the right.”

I’m starting to get this thud in my stomach, and again: “No money, go to the money across the street on the right.”

By this point I thought they were all joking, so I stood at the intersection, and there I saw four freaking Western Unions on all four of the corners with all the same story. “No money, go across the street.” It was like a bad comedy.

I finally went back into the first Western Union with the guy missing the eye, and ask where is there another Western Union. Before he could say, “across the street” I interrupted and said where else. Seems there is another one a block away.

So I go to this new one, and ask for my money; I kind of thought of it as life or death, considering I was ready to eat someone. The lady behind the counter pulls up my information. “Oh yeah, here it is.” I just knew something else was coming. “Seems as though your parents’ money has been declined.”

Of course my infamous call of “What!” comes belting out. As she calmly with a chip in her voice explains that in America, there are no limits to send through Western Union. Here in the United Kingdom, there is a minimum amount for all transactions.

Now this story probably won’t win any awards or become the next Great American Novel. But I have been finding the standards between Europe and ‘America’ pretty ridiculous. My computer has now locked out all of my programs because they are not European. I can’t even play DVDs because the regions are different even though I bought the stupid things. And don’t even get me started on the financial institutions between countries. It seems that it’s a rarity for one person my age to have four different bank accounts in three different countries.

But I have been enjoying the things you don’t have to pay for quite a bit. My new favorite thing is to play the bewildered tourist role, and walk into areas with security guards. Which of course I try to sneak into. I actually got escorted off of private property with a golf cart because I was taking pictures of some Cathedral with a lot of people in black suits coming out of it (It didn’t help I was wearing a bright red pull-over sweatshirt.).

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Justin Zawyrucha’s other blog posts:
Page 1      -     Blogs 111-81
Page 2     -      Blogs 80-50
Page 3     -      Blogs 49-19
Page 4     -      Blogs 18-1