Petty, petty cash

Every month I claim my expenses. Now we’re not talking duckhouses, Filipino maids or scatter cushions. It’s a few pence here and there for parking tickets and train tickets and stuff. I fill in the form, attach my receipts and add up the amount. Sometimes I even do the sums in my head.

 I then pop it in an envelope, address it to my line manager at the civic centre and give it to the internal courier. The courier drives my envelope up to the civic centre and it’s delivered by the special post pixies to my line manager’s desk. When she has time, she checks my sums and signs it, pops it in an envelope and the post pixies give it to the courier. The courier jumps in his van and drives down to the office where I work and it’s delivered back to me.

 I then jump in my car and drive up to the civic centre, paying 60p for the car park charge which I then put on next month’s expenses claim. I visit the petty cash desk, which is only open between the hours of ten and two, where the scary ladies sigh, huff and glare and –if you’re lucky and everyone’s sums are correct and the codes are in order- give you your money.

 The process takes a couple of weeks from start to finish.

 I currently have two expense forms sitting in my bag. I had the temerity to visit the petty cash office at two minutes past two. I was turned away.

 Silly me.

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