There’s not much to do for the two and a half weeks until I start work except wait… and get a National Police Clearance. In Queensland, there was no such requirement, with the Government apparently having no aversion to possessing crooks in its ranks, as evinced by Sir Joh’s extended occupation of the top job.
Unfortunately for me, the nearest Australia Post was out of the forms and would continue to be so for the next few weeks. Other branches were apparently likely to be in a similar state of depletion due to a recent spate of applications and police clearing.
Thus I was turned away and told to fill out and print the online form and return it UNSIGNED so that my signature could be verily witnessed and verified. But not between 12 and 2 or after 4 and not without unclipped ear and nose hair or a second toe longer than the thumb-toe.
Turned away thus, I set about my tasks: clipping ear hair and filing back fleshy toe ends and tracking down assorted ID artifacts. With filled form and bleeding feet I made my way back to Australia Post to have myself cleared of all ‘reported’ crimes. Luckily mum and dad didn’t report me for stealing shrapnel to play the arcade machines at the local takeaway store. Does a ‘grounding’ show up on a police clearance?
With my ID confirmed, I set about the incredibly difficult task of signing off on my application. I say this with retroflection given that, unbeknownst to me, there was an impending show-stopper lurking in the midst. You see, my (consistently unique) signature has a loop on the J and a long tail crossing said letter. It turns out that the entire signature had to fit within a moderately sized tetragon. The fact that this fact was written in bold next to my nemesis-quadrangle should have wisened me up. However, ecstatic that I was about finishing the process and distracted by a clarity of sound due to an absence of ear hair, I missed it.
And thus I was defeated by a quadrangle. The 4 micrograms of ink spilled outside those borders of black rendered the entire process null and void. The fact that these 4 micrograms of ink were wasted on mere flourishings and embellishments of my normally staid signature mattered not. And given that they were still out of forms, no expedient corrective action could be taken. Shunned by the quietly spoken Jefferey with a casual ‘Next Please’, I was metaphorically shown the door.
Good thing I’ve still got 18 days to get it done…