I went to pick up my $3,060 pussy cats today. First I had to wait for a vet check then pay Ministry of Primary Industries for allowing them into the county despite Murmies flagrant disregard for the recommended parasite treatment. Then I had to go to Customs to have having my immigration records checked. Oh, haha, is that to make sure Im not some kind of international pet smuggler? Wow, thats really cool! Yes, it is. You have a lot of regular travel between Australia and New Zealand over the last two years Saying Oh... thats because I have some kids living here... didnt really cement my trustworthiness. Then I had to pay for that. As I walked out I saw the lady (you know, the lady from Border Patrol) with her Beagle, and yelled out from the other side of the car park I want your job! To which she laughed, picked up the Beagle, started walking towards me, and said here, have him! When I clarified with oh, haha, no no sorry... I said your job... not your dog... i want your job she looked at me like I was from way down Southern America, with a raised eyebrow, and said well you cant do my job with a bung foot like that?? Back to MPI, where I handed over the forms, was told the vet had been and checked them, clarified that by them he was confirming that two cats had in fact made it over still incarcerated in their cages, then I was shuffled over to the Air NZ Freight Desk. Then I had to pay for them to ship them from the International Terminal to the Freight Office which is about 800 metres, so at $145 dollars works out at 18c a metre. Also twice what I was quote by MPI so I suggested that she lean over to the counter about three metres away and tell them they quoted me wrong to which she replied yeah, we just put our prices up. Then I was directed about the back to the warehouse and told to park in Bay 1, where it turns out another man had been waiting two hours for his collection, and another pet lady was still waiting for two dogs that arrived an hour before my cats did. After 45 minutes, I found a burly tattooed man and explained that as there was only one man working the forklift, and about ten trucks waiting for cargo, it might be nice if we could shuffle up the queue given that the cats had now been in cages for about eight hours. I *may* have limped a little and played up on the old oh my poor aching broken foot but it worked, and two minutes later he appeared with two little blue and orange crates. MURMIE! I yell, and everyone around me take two paces back. BOZZIE! Then I realise that Bozzie looks like someone on acid whos just seen a double-rainbow. And now, seven hours later, he still has the same look on his face. I think its the accents, cos he wants to know what fush and chups are.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 10:28:31 +0000
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