Tuesday, January 11, 2005

A Personal Record

To realise where one is in life, it pays to keep a record of one’s undertakings and achievements. Hence this particular entry on bureaucratic inefficiency.

The day began well, with a visit to the Embassy of Armenia. Upon getting there, I was pleased to find out that the embassy had moved. By the time my cousin Michał and I found the embassy, there was already a queue of 30 Armenians outside getting immigration papers sorted. After half an hour, 2 people emerged from the building. 2 went in. According to my calculations, I would miss my train at this rate, so I moved on.

The queues in the post office all numbered about 30 people each. It looked as if the Post Office had installed a number-based service system, yet this wasn’t working. Anyhow, it was social security pay day, and who would have throught that the Polish postal service would be responsible for providing the hand-outs.

I stood in the que and had chat with a pensioner who’d just turned down a job offer – cleaning for 25 hours a week, on a monthly wage of $100USD. Her grand daughter was working in a supermarket having completed an economics degree. After 30 minutes in the que, I was given two forms to fill out.

I did this and stood in another que. Behind me were two normal-looking women in their late 20s who were picking up social security benefits on their way to court. Yet when they opened their mouths, they both reminded me of the white trash schoolgirl in „Little Britain”. Quote of the day:

„Jeśli mnie kurwa przydupią na maksymalny wyrkok, to nie będę na synka pierwszej komunii.”
„If they fuck me with the maximum jail term, I won’t get out in time for my son’s first communion.”

At the end of this que, I was told that I couldn’t send my parcel because the woman didn’t have a scale big enough to weigh it. The woman didn’t have a ready answer when I asked her why the sign by her counter said that the counter catered for parcels.

In the third que, I talked to another disgruntled pensioner – a butcher by trade, who’d recently also refused an absurd job offer. His prospective employer owned 3 brand new Mercedes and complained about making no money.

This guy blamed Jews for his problems:

„Panie, jak żyd w sądzie, i żyd w rządzie, to wie pan jak to tutaj jest...”
„Sir! When the Jew’s the judge, and the Jew’s the government, you get what we have here.”

Finally, after almost 2 hours in ques I sent the parcel. The woman at the counter said, „you should have jumped the que.” I apologised for not realising how things ‘got done’ in Warsaw.

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