Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
Trip to the local bank to cancel/reissue my financial cards was a bust.After a 45-minute wait in line, an officious young man assisted me. Alas, he required an official ID card – said he cannot reference my passport ID number.
Why? That’s new bank policy: only an ID card is acceptable.
Background: Where does one get such a card and why don’t I have one?
One gets an ID card from the most dreaded place in South Africa, if not the world: the Department of Home Affairs.
The Department of Home Affairs and I have a long history that includes five years of struggle to obtain a passport. I even got as far as the department camera people taking passport photos and paying for the document.
Background: Where does one get such a card and why don’t I have one?
One gets an ID card from the most dreaded place in South Africa, if not the world: the Department of Home Affairs.
The Department of Home Affairs and I have a long history that includes five years of struggle to obtain a passport. I even got as far as the department camera people taking passport photos and paying for the document.
In the end, the document was not issued.
Instead, I got a dozen reasons for why it was my fault the document was never issued.
My sixth year, I wised up and applied to the SA Embassy in Los Angeles. I did it through the mail and got my passport in 6 weeks, no hassle, no muss no fuss.
Asking me – or any sane South African – to visit the Department of Home Affairs – the worst of the worst branch is in Pietermaritzburg, the legislative capital of Kwa Zulu Natal – is like suggesting a trip to hell for fun. Ain’t gonna happen.
I’d heard, too, that Standard Bank issued ID cards. Well, there’s one Standard Bank that does – unfortunately, it’s in Durban (a grueling 2-plus hour trip, one way). Or one in Johannesburg (an 8-hour trip, one way). That ain’t gonna happen either. No way I’m driving to Durban more likely be told no ID issued that day due to this, that, or another reason.
To add injury to insult: I’d asked the bank to cancel 2 of 3 cards, the 2 that had been stolen (aka “lost”) and allow me to continue using the one I still carry (due to it being in a different wallet). He agreed.
Alas, I went to the store to use it and discovered he cancelled it, too.
Kafka would revel in this. Where is he when such great story material is at his fingertips?
One more story: after 20 minutes of endlessly blocking whatever ideas I presented to squeeze my money out of my bank account, I said, head in hands, “WTF” – except, I announced the entire set of words – “what the fuck” - aloud.
I offended the teller who told me I’m not allowed to use “a bad word”.
Asking me – or any sane South African – to visit the Department of Home Affairs – the worst of the worst branch is in Pietermaritzburg, the legislative capital of Kwa Zulu Natal – is like suggesting a trip to hell for fun. Ain’t gonna happen.
I’d heard, too, that Standard Bank issued ID cards. Well, there’s one Standard Bank that does – unfortunately, it’s in Durban (a grueling 2-plus hour trip, one way). Or one in Johannesburg (an 8-hour trip, one way). That ain’t gonna happen either. No way I’m driving to Durban more likely be told no ID issued that day due to this, that, or another reason.
To add injury to insult: I’d asked the bank to cancel 2 of 3 cards, the 2 that had been stolen (aka “lost”) and allow me to continue using the one I still carry (due to it being in a different wallet). He agreed.
Alas, I went to the store to use it and discovered he cancelled it, too.
Kafka would revel in this. Where is he when such great story material is at his fingertips?
One more story: after 20 minutes of endlessly blocking whatever ideas I presented to squeeze my money out of my bank account, I said, head in hands, “WTF” – except, I announced the entire set of words – “what the fuck” - aloud.
I offended the teller who told me I’m not allowed to use “a bad word”.
I explained, “I’m speaking American English.”
Moreover, after he suggested I couldn’t “abuse him” I explained I wasn’t abusing him, but I was abusing the system made up of dead ends geared not to help but to hinder.
Culture. Interesting set of unconscious formulations that, too often, clash.
So. As we say in American English, I’m SOL. (Shit out of luck. I wonder where “shit” falls on the scale of bad words? I notice MS Word warns me that this word might be offensive to readers. If I’ve offended you by using it here, please accept my apologies for being a less-than-ladylike lady.)
Moreover, after he suggested I couldn’t “abuse him” I explained I wasn’t abusing him, but I was abusing the system made up of dead ends geared not to help but to hinder.
Culture. Interesting set of unconscious formulations that, too often, clash.
So. As we say in American English, I’m SOL. (Shit out of luck. I wonder where “shit” falls on the scale of bad words? I notice MS Word warns me that this word might be offensive to readers. If I’ve offended you by using it here, please accept my apologies for being a less-than-ladylike lady.)
