I’m one of these people who are disproportionally unsettled by circumstances I’m not familiar with. I’m comforted by routines and knowing what’s going to happen next, so when I find myself confronted with something a bit different, I tend to buzz with irritation. Something as small as driving somewhere unknown has been known to fluster me and propel my mood downwards. My occupation means I am regularly in contact with customer complaints about airport parking and, as I recently flew from Stansted for a week’s holiday, I decided I should scrutinise the parking I had pre-booked. I thought it would be interesting to put myself in place of all the people I had read comments from and see if I could relate to the seemingly tedious complaints that inspire people to put pen to paper. I thought I was perfectly suited to the task because of my own sell house fast inclination for unnecessary irritability; which I was. I wasn’t even driving (usually cause for a little vain popping and teeth knashing) yet I still found plenty of things that made the process pricklier than it could have been. Firstly, my e-ticket said I should insert my card into the machine at the barrier on entrance. It would then spit out my parking ticket. But it didn’t work. Instead I had to just press the button for a ticket, making me wonder wether I might be charged later, despite already having paid to get a cheaper deal. Such minor things, but it”s the uncertainty you see, it concerns me! Then I was looking for zone T as stated on my ticket. Which was easy enough to find, but it was closed off. So I kept driving around, eventually ending up in zone Z. Obviously another insignificant thing, but my brow was furrowed already.