…is a rant.
It may become somewhat racist, although that’s not what it’s about.
There may be profanity in all probability, because sometimes, that’s the only way to really express certain kinds of blind rage and frustration.
And today was supposed to have been a happy day – what with the kid’s b day and all. Turns out said kid is feeling really sorry for himself, and is making me pay for it by swearing and cursing and blaming me for everything that’s wrong in his life. Oh well, a few more coals on the heaping fire is probably not going to make such a big difference. Load it up my child, mom’s got wide shoulders. And what do I do for him? In lieu of a gift, I’m COOKING for him! And inviting the family to spend time with him.
We all know I’m unemployed.
I’ve been sending out CV’s to all and sundry – no replies.
Either because I’m white – which is very likely, whities are not allowed to work in the NEW SA, or because I’m just useless. I’m going with the former one, because the latter does not bear thinking about!
So, I went to the bank today to exchange the last of my dollars. 99 of them to be exact.
Go to the first bank. The black teller behind the counter wants my passport because she can’t exchange dollars without a passport. I spent all of 3 minutes in the building – for which priveledge I get to pay R5 – money I can really ill afford at this point in time, not to mention the petrol there and back home to go fetch the bloody passport!
Go to a branch at a mall closer to me. Ask which teller to go to, get told any teller – by a white person. Stand in the line after I navigated a veritable gauntlet of those STUPID bloody place markers or what ever the fuck you want to call them. Get to teller 8. Another black lady. Told her I have dollars that I want to exchange. She looks at me. Looks at the chick next to her. Speaks. Looks at me again. Tells me that the only person that can do it is teller number one and she’s on lunch. But please take a seat. What’s with the fucking chairs everywhere? I don’t want to sit! I want to do this business and get back home where I don’t have to see your bloody faces!! But no. Everywhere you get, there’s chairs. Since when do you sit at a bank? Why does everything have to be so easy, when in actual fact it just makes it worse!!
Of course, that did not quite suit me as well as it might have, so I informed the chick behind the counter that I don’t actually care if the person is on lunch, I’m a customer, and I need to be looked after.
Don’t shout at me Ma’m. Sweetie pie – if I shouted at you, everybody would know. Get off your stupid high horse and take it. Unfurtunately you were last in the line of this stupid exercise, the least you can do is take your punishment like a man. Or at least somebody that can handle dealing with customers. But noooo. Not in the New SA. You have to be all light and love and fucking peace and namaste, otherwise you’re a racist, or rude or whatever they can come up with. I don’t really care what your colour is at this point in time. Fact is, I’m pissed off, I’ve been pissed off before I walked into your bank, and if you had just one, slight incling of how to deal with pissed off customers, you would never have asked me not to shout at you. That just curls me up even more! I’m the effing customer you stupid cow. Treat me as such!
Had to wait for the foreign currency chick. Did that. She gets there, beautiful, cute little Indian chick, I hand her the money and my passport. She asks me for my date of entry. Told her I got back to SA 2 years ago already – been saving the dollars for a rainy day. Which this turns out to be in more ways than one. She hands me back the passport and asks for my ID. I nearly had a heart attack!! I travelled all the way to the other branch, was spoken to as if I was an idiot, paid for parking I used for 3 minutes, got accosted by another unemployed person selling pens, only to be turned back. FOR NOTHING!!! I could have killed right at that moment!
End result, with TAX, and commision deducted, I got a measly R614 for my $99. At an exchange rate of R7.45.
Then I went to buy smokes – because we all know those are way more important than food or even petrol.
Get to the counter, they don’t have cartons. Not behind the counter in any case. It’s locked in a room, that somebody has to get the keys for. So, instead of helping the customer behind me, in order not to waste everybody’s time even more, she rings up the cooldrink I wanted. Then she wanted to cancel the transaction. WTF people!! Brains! Logic! Use it!! Eventually the carton was handed out and I could leave that particular brand of misery!
Walking through the mall, I see the little shops closing down – the few luxury items people might think of getting as a b day gift, or maybe a bonus gift. Closing down, because for the current government, it’s way more important to tax the living shit out of the few working people they have, than to make it slightly easier for them to survive and feel as if their hard work actually pays off something other than some fat fuckers 7 wives and 600 children, and said fat fuck’s house and 50 cars and first class aeroplane tickets and luxury holidays.
Because really, it’s not as if they use hard earned tax money for anything important, now is it!
One point of light. The bank phoned me about my credit card. I told the black lady my whole sordid predicament. And she made the whole day better with her understanding, and not forcing me to get blood from a stone. As long as she knows i applied for UIF benefite, she’ll put a marker on the system, and I will be excused for this month. Why can’t they all be like that? Why does everything in this stupid, sucky country always be a fight?
I’ll start cooking now – I doubt it will calm the nerves, but I’ll be listening to classic FM while I’m doing it, and I think that might very well do the trick.