I pit an idiotic medium-level bureaucrat who I never saw but who managed to screw up my entire day just the same.
I needed to have some papers signed at a crown corporation designed to be a kind of farmers’ bank. We have our operating loan with them, have had for 10 years. I called to ask if our “Relationship Manager” was in the office. (Yes, that’s what they call the person who handles our account.:rolleyes:) I was told she wasn’t in. I explained that I needed these papers signed and wanted it done today so I could fax them to their destination and also mail the originals and know they were postmarked today. I wanted it done in 2008 and could not do it before today since I had to wait for some other papers - which were in this morning’s mail. Sorry if I’m confusing everyone.
I was told that our specific, personal Relationship Manager (how I loathe these terms!!!) was not in, but that another person’s Relationship Manager could sign the forms for me. So I toddled off to the office, arriving at 11:45 am. A perfectly pleasant person met me and showed me to an office and brought me a coffee. I took out the forms, and explained which TWO forms needed to be signed, and WHERE they were to be signed, and because I am organized and thoughtful, I brought along the forms from last year with our Relationship Manager’s signature, as an example and to show that, yes indeed, our Personal Relationship Manager had signed similar forms in the past.
Lo and behold the coffee-providing person could not sign the forms. So she took them away from me and left me sitting there. 20 minutes rolled by. I drank my coffee, looked out the window. Went out into the lobby and coughed. Walked up and down setting my feet down heavily. Not a sign of life.
Sat down again. Fidgeted. Now it’s a half hour and no sign of a human life form. Went out to the lobby and whistled. A startled young person peeked around the corner and asked if she could help me. I explained my situation.
She went off and returned with coffee-providing person. “Oh, just a few more minutes!” she chirped. I, not chirping, said, “What’s the hold up? Is there something I can do to speed things up?” “Oh, no, it’s okay, he’s just reading the forms and if you just wait another few minutes, I’ll bring them out. Would you like another coffee?” This made my heart sink. “No, no more coffee, thank you. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to speed this process up?” Well, golly gee, no there wasn’t.
Looked out the windows for a few more fascinating moments. So now we are at 45 minutes and I am steaming. I would have shouted but there was no one to shout at and besides, I try not to do stuff like that. So another whistle.
Now two not-quite-so-chirpy and obviously apprehensive persons appeared. “He’s reading the forms, he wants to make sure what it’s all about before he puts his name on them,” one of them said, not quite so chirpily.
“So, does he think Our Personal Relationship Manager was doing something wrong or improper all the other times I’ve brought these forms in for signature?” I asked, trying to be calm and polite.
“Um, no,” was the answer. “He just wants to be sure.”
I sighed one of those heavy sighs. “Look,” I said, “I could have read them in English, French, Punjabi and Mandarin by now. What is the problem?”
“No problem, he’s just reading them.”
We are now over 50 minutes and my hair was on fire. “Tell you what,” I said, “let me talk to him, whoever he is.”
This would not do, apparently. Why? Why? Why? The question torments me yet . . .The other question that torments me, only not so much, is WHY the bloody hell I stood this for almost an hour. Am I doormat? I don’t think of myself as a doormat.
So then, I said, “Look. I have some other errands to do in town. I will be back in 45 minutes, okay? He’ll be done by then, right?”
They nodded uncertainly. I went away. I came back, 45 minutes later. Before I left the car I phoned the office and asked if the papers had been signed. “Yes,” was the joyous answer.
I went up to the office and the coffee-providing person was waiting for me and she smiled as if I was her last hope of happiness in this vale of tears. She handed me the papers. I looked at them. The unseen cause of all my annoyance had not stopped at being a slow reader, he had, for some reason known only to himself, made COPIES of my forms. He had signed ONE of the TWO forms he copied, and had, besides, returned my originals unsigned. He had signed the one he did sign in pale, pale ink or maybe pencil and in tiny, tiny writing, and had printed his name and his title as Relationship Manager beside his signature and his printing would have made a grade 2 kid ashamed. No official stamp.
I sighed another one of those heavy sighs. “Um,” I said. “Both forms need to be signed. He only signed one.”
“Oh, well, we didn’t think he needed to sign the other one, see, it says . . .blah, blah, blah . . .”
I said, “No, no, you must understand that these forms are Government forms and if they say they want 2 forms signed, then they want 2 forms signed. I’ve been doing this for years and I did explain this, and can you get “him” out here so he can sign the other form, please?”
“Oh, he’s gone for the day.”
Now my head really was going to explode. There were going to be brains and blood all over the swell, carpeted, overly warm medium-level bureaucratic joint. I guess my face telegraphed my murderous fury because coffee-provider scuttled off and returned with another person. He, it turned out, was also a Relationship Manager, and he took the unsigned form from me, signed it with a flourish, produced a stamp that neatly displayed his name and title, stamped it, dated it, and handed it back to me.
I stood there, my mouth opening and closing the way a goldfish’s mouth opens and closes, you know? I thought of a lot of things to say, but in the end I did not say anything but “thank you everso” and I drove home, mumbling obscenities as I tootled along.
By the time I got home, the government office in Ottawa had closed for the day and had turned off its fax machine and I do so hope, from the bottom of my heart, that it is open tomorrow.
Otherwise I may have to commit medium-level-bureaucraticide.
sighs again
I do feel somewhat better, thank you very much.