Clerks

I went to the VAT (Value Added Tax) office today, to reopen my business license. The translations I've been doing over the last six months have all been under the table, and due to this fact I haven't been able to charge the rates which I warrant at my level of skill. Anyway, I went back to reopen my file, and quite dreaded the thought, but braved on like the tough little soldier I am.

I actually called the place a couple of days ago, and found out that the city I now live in is no longer served by the particular office that's, you know, in the city. The office in my city only services other cities, and I would have to go to a whole OTHER city to register. (Italics for emphasis of stupidity, not distance.) The woman I spoke with on the phone said that since my previous address was in the older city that is serviced by the local place, and since that is the address on my ID, they would be able to help me anyway. She happened to be the director of the office, so I felt confident that she wasn't feeding me lines.

So I arrive at the office (which is a 5 minute walk from my house, and happens to be just on my way to the cafe), fill out the appropriate form, which lists my current address (as the kind lady above had instructed me to do when we spoke), and approach The Clerk.

The conversation went something like this:

Rappy: Good morning. I've come to reopen my file. I was told by [office director] that I could take care of this matter here, in spite of the fact that I live in [city].
The Clerk: I can't help you. You live in [city].
Rappy: Right. As I said, [office director] reviewed my file and said that I could be helped at this office.
The Clerk: You live in [city]. You'll have to go to the office in Tel Aviv.
Rappy: SIR! I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I SPOKE WITH [OFFICE DIRECTOR]. PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO CHECK WITH HER BEFORE YOU SEND ME OFF TO THE OTHER OFFICE.
The Clerk: But... (punches in my ID number into computer one. irritating. key. at. a. time.) It says here that your address is in [serviced city].
Rappy: Right. And that is the address on my ID. It is a valid address of a relative where I can receive mail.
The Clerk: Well... I can open the account with that address as the business address, and use your regular address as your mailing address.
Rappy: Ok.
The Clerk: (continues excruciatingly long process of keying my information into the computer one finger at a time.) Ok, I've opened it up for you. Would you like me to now change your address and transfer your file automatically to the other office?
Rappy: *sigh.* You mean JUST LIKE YOUR BOSS SAID YOU COULD TO BEGIN WITH?

Ok, that last part might have been in my head. This whole exchange (which will almost surely be repeated at the income tax office tomorrow) made me realize that the word "clerk" isn't so much a job title as it is a mentality. You're either a clerk or you aren't, no matter what you do in life. You could be a senior manager and still be a clerk, because clerking is in your head, not on your business card.

A Clerk is someone who cannot fart unless the procedure is authorized in company regulations, with 17 clauses as to the precise performance of said function. A Clerk is someone whose first answer is always: "WE can't", because a Clerk (note repeated use of capitalization) can never take ownership of anything. If he/she did, it would mean having to find that other brain cell to rub against the first in order to generate an independent thought, which frankly, is not a concept with which a Clerk is familiar.

I'm just glad that I'm starting to develop a thicker skin for this kind of idiocy and have started speaking up for myself. I'm really not a confrontational person, but living in this country, I've got no other choice. I've come a long way since the day I went to the Ministry of Interior to obtain my (legally required) ID card and went home in tears, after The Clerk yelled at me that I didn't need one.

Posted by raptorgirl at March 23, 2005 09:52 AM