I’m in the process of changing my name. Yes, soon you’ll be able to call me Princess Consuela Banana Hammock. It’s my dream!
But seriously. London is a sophisticated town and I really do love it but it’s no Toronto when it comes to refurbishing its government cheese lines. Its government services offices are still – from what I’ve seen – industrial looking caverns that smell like despair and are overcrowded with anxious people who have been waiting a very, very long time. I only make the comparison to Toronto because the last government business I did there was in a cheerful, modern building where everything was very efficient and civilized.
Here’s the bottom line: although I’m changing all of my ID I don’t want to change my health card. I would have no choice but to take a deli counter number and sit far too close to (or stand uncomfortably next to) someone I just, frankly, don’t want to know that well. So here is my brilliant solution. I simply will not change it! Its Canada, after all. What could possible happen? It’s not as if they’d leave me bleeding from both eyes while they wring their hands because the surname doesn’t match the rest of my ID. Someone would probably give me a bit of grief about it…once I’m all recovered! It’s not like my photo shows anybody other than the sleep-deprived sullen terrorist I seem to be on all of my other identification. That’s how I’m going to avoid the experience. Just…avoid the experience! I really think it’s foolproof as long as I, you know, don’t get sick and Nurse Ratchet decides to give me a lecture. But as I said, it’s Canada. They’d fix me up first, lecture me later.