Of Service and Civility

“Please find attached a termination letter, new contract, non-disclosure agreement, tax form and employment eligibility form. Please fill these out and sign them and send them back as soon as you can.

I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year.

Best,

HR”

Ah great, red tape. Of course there is no escaping it. It’s one of those unpleasant things in life that you just have to do. Now let’s see, how do we print in here.. 2014 and we have enough computing power in our telephones to send man to moon several times over, but printers still suck. Okay, section A. Name, surname, date of birth. Damn what’s my address? Oh here it is. Right, fill out section B if you are married… C if blah blah blah. Telephone number, email address.. oh wow they even want your email these days.. social security number. Hmmm.

“Hey, what’s my social security number?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I have to fill this out and I need an SSN”

“What, you don’t have one?”

“Erm.. I don’t think so”

“Oh yeah, I guess you should go apply for one. Oh man, that sucks. Let’s see, okay I can download a form online and print it. You should go there early, there’ll probably be a lineup.”

Okay, fine. Let’s move some meetings around and spend tomorrow morning with some bureaucrats. The next day, I packed the forms and documents I needed and headed to the government offices.

“Empty your pockets” the security guard instructed me sternly. “Jacket on the tray. Bag too. No, on another tray. Is there a computer or any electronics in the bag?”. “Uh, yes, my laptop is in there, I’m going to work after th..”. “Remove it from the bag and put it on the tr.. not that tray, another tray. Okay walk through the screen please.”. It’s like being at an airport, I thought to myself as I gathered my things at the other end of the security check. I've never even seen the airport, I wonder what it's like.

After the security check I found myself in a large spacious building housing all sorts of governmental offices. I walked around a bit looking for the social security office, the place seemed quite empty apart from a small crowd of people at the corner of.. hang on.. oh. Great. As I got closer it turned out it wasn't so bad. “It’s still early” I thought to myself as I pressed buttons on the digital why-are-you-here-take-a-number-machine. I took a seat and waited. There were two sets of numbers on a big screen indicating who was next and signs in English and Spanish all over the waiting room. There were four windows and a bored woman on the other side of each one, a sense of helplessness filled the room. One of the clerks slurped a soda loudly through a straw right under a sign saying “NO FOOD OR DRINK”.

“540!” one of the bored women said loudly as the screen buzzed my number. I grabbed my bag and jacket and headed over to the counter. “What do you want?” the woman asked (so much for the machine). “I’m here for a social security number, I’ve just transferred here and I need one to complete my tax fo..” I trailed off as she held out her hand without saying a word. I gave her my SSN application form and my passport, a letter from my employer (hastily prepared the day before at work) and a copy of my birth certificate. She opened my passport on the picture page and folded the spine the other way. Then, she closed the passport to look at the front with a surprised expression on her face. She turned to her colleague in the next window who stopped serving #541 while he was in mid-sentence to look at my passport.

She leaned back towards me and leafed through the pages and stopped suddenly. “I’m afraid we have a problem here..” she says as my heart sank. “It says here you entered this country in December 2014. That’s almost a year from now.”. “That’s because I’m from the future” I said trying to lighten the mood. She frowned at my little joke and said I have to go to the airport to get it corrected. I gathered my papers and headed out.

The airport wasn't too far, I called work and explained I will not be making it before lunch. A couple of subway trains and a bus later I was at the airport. I had to go to the customs office, I found it after looking around for about half an hour. “...so you see I have to get this corrected or they won’t give me social security number…” I explained to the woman at the customs office. “But you didn't come through here…”. “No, I took the bus…”. “So what date did you arrive? December 2nd 2013?”. “No, they got the month wrong, not the year. I got here January 2nd”. As she walked away with my passport I realised I could have said any date I wanted. I couldn't really think of a more useful date than the one I actually came in on anyway.

Corrected passport in hand, I left the airport and headed straight back to the government office. After a slightly different security check (power adapter also in a separate tray this time) I went straight back to the room. Now there were at least twice as many people and two of the windows had closed. Two hours later I completed my application and raced back to work just in time for my meeting. I was starving.

One day, one day soon, I will get my social security number. It will arrive in the mail and I can finally put all this red tape behind me. Or at least until the next time I have to battle with THE BUREAUCRACY…

In the future, THE BUREAUCRACY will have expanded to
 the point where it collapses onto itself and forms a singularity

The Banana Tax

"Don't get these bananas, put them back" the young lady in front of me, who was blocking the aisle with her trolley scolded. "Get the fair trade ones" she ordered her companion. "Pay twice as much for smaller bananas!? What's fair about that trade?" he protested. I turned around and went around the the other way to continue with my shopping.

The pantry at my place was still very bare since my arrival here. I found myself buying only a few things at a time, I guess to get a better picture of the variety of shops in my neighbourhood and also because I was rather confused by the array of unfamiliar products, labels and packaging. The closest supermarket I could find was an up-market, all-organic bio-food specialty store. Some of the produce was nice, but the prices put me off. "Onions, garlic, tomatoes.." I thought to myself as I wended my way through the fruit and veg section. Prices at this supermarket where I now found myself were more acceptable, but still higher than I had expected.

Government statistics here quote inflation without food and energy prices. This is supposedly because they are too volatile, subject to large seasonal variations. Volatility seems to suggests large increases and decreases, however I don't recall ever seeing food prices plummet. The huge increase in global food prices since '08 has been a catastrophe for the poor, who spend a large percentage of their income on these necessities [1] [2] [3]. Perhaps this was the motor behind the Arab spring? Not to mention unrest in south-east and central Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. Who was it that said “One day without food and all of civilisation goes out the window”?  Of all the myriad of taxes imposed on society, inflation is the most socially irresponsible and unfair.

"...pasta, rice, tuna..." I muttered to myself as I tried to plan my dinners for the coming weeks. "I really imagined food would be cheaper here", I thought to myself disappointedly, struggling to remember what food cost back home and wrestling with the exchange rate. Mental arithmetic has never been my forte.

"How are you today?" the checkout lady said as I approached her. "Er. Um, fine. Thanks. How about yourself?". I was surprised as back home the supermarket staff would hardly even look you in the eye, let alone engage you in conversation. I paid up and took my groceries, packed away in paper bags, which in turn were packed in plastic bags. I think this place will take some getting used to.

What first appears to be a week-old organic banana in a fruit
bowl lined with receipts is actually a statement about inflation.

[1] - Times of India Nov '13

[2] - Wall Street Journal Jan '14

[3] - Reuters Jan '14

The Journey Home

"So, you're leaving already?" she said with her arms folded "You've only just got here" she continued, trying to make me feel guilty. "You always knew I'd have to go sooner or later. Besides, I'll be back to visit. Maybe when it's warmer..." I said as I glanced at the blizzard raging outside. 

"Fine. Well, I hope you know you'll always be welcome, I really hope you had a wonderful time here... When do you leave?" she asked. "The bus leaves at dawn tomorrow." I said with some urgency. "How long is the bus?". "I don't know. Nine, ten, maybe twelve meters. But it makes little difference". I wished her luck as she stared at me blankly and I left to get busy with my packing. As I stumbled home, the wind blew snow in all directions. The mad icy swirl around me matched the dim painful swirling in my head. It had been quite a party last night. Every year, for as long as I can remember, always started with a hangover.

The next morning, I was not on the bus very long before I encountered the first hurdle of my journey. The border was not very far. I was expecting trouble, after all I'm an unusual case. The border guards must be very careful, everyone loves tourists, but migrants are a different matter. Without all this scrutiny, knowledge-based migrants like myself will take away all the native jobs. Doctors, architects, engineers and philosophers would swarm in from the third world and through their tireless work and cheap rates would force all the local specialists into menial jobs. A country must protect its specialists, who did their time in colleges and universities, to allow them to continue to live in the manner to which they have become accustomed. One must ensure that only migrants who have the skills that are clearly, provably and manifestly lacking in the economy are allowed in, lest this tide of migration allow these opportunists to manipulate the market through their competition.

Almost an hour later, after twenty questions, I got my beleaguered passport back. It had been scanned, folded, stamped and stapled multiple times. Scrutinised by the entire office. No violations, this one can pass. I walked through the bitter cold back to the bus, and climbed on to be greeted by scores of icy faces. "You." the faces seemed to say. You're the reason we are late. You're the reason we've been left in the cold, waiting to depart. What war-torn, failed, evil country did you escape from? Or is it your criminal record they didn't like? Why did they let you through anyway? Why don't you just go back to wherever the hell it is you come from. I took my seat quickly and quietly as the bus' engines revved to go.

"They give ya a hard time, huh?" said the young man in the seat across the aisle from me, some time after we were on our way. "Excuse me?" I said, "Oh, at the border? Yeah, I guess they're just doing their job...". "Damn right", he said. "We can't have all them people coming and going as they please! Before you know it, they be coming in by the million to take advantage of our generous welfare state. That welfare is intended for people born over here. Not no other place. That's our money an' that comes outta our taxes. Ain't no one taking our welfare who's not paying our taxes. No sir.". "Oh, that seems more than reasonable", I said, trying to avoid a discussion and the urge to point out the contradiction in his last sentence. "I'll be working, paying my taxes. No way I'll be on welfare". The conversation continued only shortly before we reached our first break stop, which gave me an excuse to end the conversation.

"Please, stop asking me." the driver said over the intercom. "I do not know how late we'll be. Our aim is to get you to your destination as fast as we can as safely and... safely. There is a snow storm going on and visibility is very poor. I promise we will get there, but I do not know when. So, please, stop asking me because I do not know. I have to concentrate on the road and it doesn't help to have you all coming up here and saying 'Hey...'. I promise we will get there before Friday, if you have a question please ask me when we're at a stop. Now, please, sit down, relax and enjoy the pretty snow on the pretty trees."

As the bus went on through the pitch-black night, dizzy from having had nothing to eat all day, I really wished I caught a plane. Finally the country dark gave way to city lights and traffic. The bus stopped and there was the familiar face at the station. I had arrived. I was home.

Home: Maybe I should have gone further south

The Adventure Begins

"I'll start a blog", I thought to myself as I walked through the freezing streets of an unfamiliar city. Nah, it'd be a waste of time, nobody would ever read it. Besides, it's not like you have any writing skills or anything particularly interesting to write about. You'll probably just write a few entries and then forget it like those diaries when you were a kid.

Well, on the other hand, why not? It can improve my writing, structure my thoughts and document my upcoming adventure. Ok, but nobody's going to read it. I don't care, I'll write it for myself. New adventure, new country, new blog. Or just blog, there wasn't an old blog so this can't be a new blog.

I should really be more concerned with my work, the move and figuring out why I felt I wanted to leave in the first place. Meanwhile I wander the icy streets of this wonderful purgatory, meeting the few friends I've managed to make in my short stay here. Where am I anyway? Where am I going? It doesn't really matter. I could be anyone, going anywhere. Right now there are more important matters, there is work to be done and packing to do. The adventure begins!

This weather makes you want to start a blog