Ticket number 53
I pick my number.
An entire parade of elderly people before me, waiting for pensions that should have been theirs with dignity, not after an hour in metal chairs breaking their hips.
My turn.
The clerk peers at my ID then at me.“You’re Miram YYXXYYYY! I know you! Don’t you know me?”
"I don’t" I say.
He lists names of cousins, uncles, some family tree I stopped watering. He points vaguely to where he lives too..his name.
“Alright,” I tell him flatly. “I still don’t know you.” growing impatient with a pattern I find everywhere.
Behind me, a line forms and people are likely thinking the same I am. What a load of crap this is..
I ask: “Can you get my card and cheque book? My phone says they were mailed here.”
“No, no. The book isn’t mailed yet. You don’t have to come here anymore, just send your cousin. I’ll give it to him”
And here is where the trap snaps shut, as per usual..the favor that isn’t a favor, the generosity that costs more than generosity. Around here, they treat rights like handouts and expect gratitude for the bare minimum. And they always want something much greater in return.
So I smile, thin as glass, and say:
“If it’s my right, then I’ll come for it myself. If it isn’t my right, then no one else can claim it either or give it to me. We keep it simple: I’ll wait like everyone else and I’ll take it myself. My number is already linked to my account and a notification should be sent there.”
He understands the tone and retreats to being a stranger and I walk away.
I don't want favors from anyone. I want what is mine.
If you can do it for me, you should be doing it for everyone else.
An entire parade of elderly people before me, waiting for pensions that should have been theirs with dignity, not after an hour in metal chairs breaking their hips.
My turn.
The clerk peers at my ID then at me.“You’re Miram YYXXYYYY! I know you! Don’t you know me?”
"I don’t" I say.
He lists names of cousins, uncles, some family tree I stopped watering. He points vaguely to where he lives too..his name.
“Alright,” I tell him flatly. “I still don’t know you.” growing impatient with a pattern I find everywhere.
Behind me, a line forms and people are likely thinking the same I am. What a load of crap this is..
I ask: “Can you get my card and cheque book? My phone says they were mailed here.”
“No, no. The book isn’t mailed yet. You don’t have to come here anymore, just send your cousin. I’ll give it to him”
And here is where the trap snaps shut, as per usual..the favor that isn’t a favor, the generosity that costs more than generosity. Around here, they treat rights like handouts and expect gratitude for the bare minimum. And they always want something much greater in return.
So I smile, thin as glass, and say:
“If it’s my right, then I’ll come for it myself. If it isn’t my right, then no one else can claim it either or give it to me. We keep it simple: I’ll wait like everyone else and I’ll take it myself. My number is already linked to my account and a notification should be sent there.”
He understands the tone and retreats to being a stranger and I walk away.
I don't want favors from anyone. I want what is mine.
If you can do it for me, you should be doing it for everyone else.
