She paused outside the place for a moment to look up at the large red neon sign that hung above the door. `Head Office - Please make an appointment for personal service.`
Standing there for a few more moments, she considered the various implications suggested by the sign, and then went inside.
At the desk, a bored looking woman in a brown dress looked up at her briefly.
"Mmm? Can I help you?" It wasn`t so much a question, as something she had to say, countless times, every day.
"Er, yes. I`m here to see about some roadworks"
"Are you here to have some done, or to complain about them?" She made it sound as though everyone complained about them.
"Oh, er.. the latter, actually."
The woman behind the desk looked at her with an expression of complete bewilderment. "We don`t have a postal department. But I thought you were here about road works, not mail?"
"No, no, no. I said `latter`. I want to complain." She frowned as she said this. Where did they get them from? This one appeared to have come from one of the holes in the road.
"Oh." A look of relief passed across the woman`s face. "What number are you?"
"Number? I don`t have one? Should I have gotten one from somewhere before coming here?"
"I mean your maintenance number. Everyone`s given one at birth. Remember?" The woman was sounding really quite sarcastic now.
"Oh yes, of course. My number is 6020/7463-76T."
The woman turned round and looked at a huge list of numbers behind her, and after about fifteen minutes, she came back and said, "Go and sit in row sixteen, you`ll be seen to in a while." Then, before she could be asked just how long a `while` was, the woman pulled a screen down in front of herself and could no longer be seen.

She sighed irritably and then turned around to try and find row sixteen. It wasn`t immediately visible, but after maybe half an hour of serching, she found it.
There weren`t any seats, so she found herself standing next to a man with a horrifying birthmark on on his face. She knew she shouldn`t stare, but did anyway. The burgundy mark covered nearly all of his face, and his bottom lip was badly malformed... looking as though someone had inflated it with a bicycle pump. He turned around and looked at her, giving what may have been a smile, but she couldn`t be sure, with that lip.
"Are you here to complain too?" He asked. It took her a couple of seconds to work out what he`d said, his words being somewhat slurred.
"Oh, er..yes, I suppose I am. Are you?" She was trying hard to be polite, but it was difficult, his blemish was very distracting.
"Yes. I`m here to complain about people staring. I really hate it when they do that." He put a very heavy emphasis on the word `hate`.
She gave a nervous laugh, "Ahha.. I can understand that.. yes...ahha. Mmm." and with that, she wandered off to a another part of the waiting area.

"Hello dearie, are you here to complain too?" said a woman, tapping her on the shoulder.
She turned around and looked at this `woman`, dressed in what might, if you were being charitable, be described as a t-shirt, (and if you weren`t, it was merely a glorified hankie), the most ridiculously tight pair of hotpants, and a pair of scruffy, faded, synthetic suede, high heeled boots.
`Mother.` she thought to herself. "Yes." she said.
"Me too dearie. I`m here to complain about the disgusting state of the health service. Do you know, its totally corrupt?" And with that, she was off, there was no stopping the woman now.
She talked about the malevolant mamographers who make plaster cast reproductions of their patients` breasts (more than just the memory of a mammary), working on conjunction with the workoholic gynaecologist. This man enhanced his profesional knowledge each night, with a strategically placed optic fibre, connected to a sensetive camera and recording equipment (matched only by the sensetivity of the organ to which it was attached). Together, these fiends were planning to create the ultimate rubber doll, thus reducing women to the level of reproductive instruments, and vacuum cleaner handlers.

After what seemd like three millenia, a number was called out, "6020/7463-76T"
At last
She walked over to the desk where her number had been called.
"Yes?" Another friendly face. "Name and number?"
"You just read out my number." she said.
"That is irrelevant. Name and number?"
She gave the required information. "I`d like to....."
"Complain?"
"Yes."
"Of course you want to complain. What else would you be doing at this desk? Fill in this form and we`ll deal with you in a while."
She looked at this woman behind the desk, quite exasperated. "Excuse me, but I`ve been here all bloody day! I`ve got better things to do than stand around here and never be seen to."
"Well, if you`d like to make an appointment," the woman began, not at all put off by this sudden outburst, "I`m sure we can fit you in some time next month."
"NEXT MONTH?!!! AAAAAARRGHHH!!!!!!!"