Sometimes there are days where my Twitter stream is full of people complaining.
Customer service, the weather, air conditioning, work, auto-DMs, the debt ceiling, the use of profanity, you name it, it’s there.
The minutiae of daily life are, on reflection, mundane and not very interesting. That’s why when tragedies such as befell Norway cause people to exclaim, “It makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Then the next day you are back to telling me where you are having lunch and which dry cleaning firm you will be going to after it.
Allow me to introduce my Monday.
We woke up full of expectation, today I was going to get one step closer to my Documento Personal de Identificación or DPI. Ever since I was pick-pocketed on Good Friday, I’ve been without local ID and a driving license – problematic when police checkpoints return.
The local ID I did have, the cedula is being retired, replaced by a biometric card to cut down on fraud and centralize information. The only problem is out of six details held in the department’s database, four of them are incorrect. There is no date of birth stored, my place of birth is incorrect, marital status is left blank, ditto the amount of dependent minors we have.
In other words, the only details that are correct are my name and sex.
So three months of waiting and we are back at square one, having to go through a lawyer to notarize that my details are incorrect. What is even more galling is that the file they have contains all the correct details from my passport. Not only that, I am an official resident of this country, a process that took a mere six months.
One government department has all the correct details and considers me a resident, the other has all my correct details but because of a database failure on their part, I’m the one that has to clean it up for them.
I won’t go into how I had to claim I’d lost a piece of paper that marked me as a foreigner despite the fact it didn’t exist when I first applied for residency.
Having experienced officialdom, I feared the worst about enduring customer service. The camera had hit the floor for the fifth time and started vibrating again. It probably needed a clean but the main issue was the vibration. After the requisite week, we were told it was ready, for a sixth of the price it was the last time.
When we got to the camera shop, the tech support guy proudly showed that the camera worked only for the familiar buzzing sound of the vibrations to be audible for all in the shop. There is only one Sony repair centre in the country, so options are limited.
It turns out that the technician had happily cleaned the camera, charging a mere $45 for the privilege. Who knows what it will cost to tighten up whatever bits are loose? The fact I can probably buy a new and better camera for less than the repairs will cost seems lost on the shop, a product of its monopolistic status I suspect.
When consumers do not have choice and are unaware of its existence, corporations have all the advantages. When it is a governmental department, you are stuck with whatever level of service they feel like.
To progress a country needs an informed public and a state willing to change. When you have neither, the only possible results are frustrated citizens and an obsolete system.





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