dealing with bureaucracy

[Ken Gargett]

Greetings,

Happened across this in the bowels of the computer the other day – something I did many years ago. Rob has asked me to get back to posting more (apols for being so slack but Spitbucket takes a fair whack of tine at the moment). So here goes.

This was from a time a while back when I was trying to arrange a visit to Australia for a Cuban friend. Needless to say, she never made it. But in the end, that might not have been a bad thing.

We have a saying at Chez Swamp a wise man does not stick sharp objects in a sleeping bear. It is therefore with much trepidation that one steps headlong in the bear pit armed with a large box of needles, freshly sharpened.

It would also be fair to say that on occasions, and with grateful thanks to tolerant editors, this piece of ex-tree (by explanation - this piece of ex-tree refers to a column I used to do ages ago and the column was supposedly something to do with wine) has sometimes held a very tenuous grip on any connection between it and the wonderful world of wine. And this

month may test the patience of my saint-like editor more than usual.

Bureaucracy. Who amongst us has not, at some time in their existence on this planet, had to deal with it? Indeed, who amongst us has not pulled out large clumps of hair in the mindless frustration the mere thought it induces. I told you it was tenuous.

But that is what bureaucracy can do to you and some things are too priceless to keep to oneself.

My latest experience of the rapier-like thrust and parry one enjoys with government officialdom came with the extraordinarily polite and hardworking members of the Department of Immigration. Note the obvious and shameless crawling here in case any of their inestimably talented staff happen across this, as the matter is on going (not too dissimilar to the shameless brown-nosing to my editor, witnessed above, in an attempt to sneak this through.

I now understand why we have 'boat people'. These are simply perfectly legitimate folk who wanted to visit Australia but have finally given up on dealing with our friends in the Dept. It must surely be far simpler to clamber onto a twelve foot raft of matchsticks tied together with banana leaves with only a dirty hanky for a sail, with thirty-five like minded souls and brave high seas, pirates, storms, sharks and more than to get anywhere with these folk.

I'm in the process of attempting to assist a friend to visit Australia from Cuba. The Americans had less trouble doing the reverse at Bay of Pigs.

First call was to request some forms. Now to be fair, these are available on line to be printed for anyone who does want them but being technologically-challenged in a major way, at some time, I managed to delete the printer function attached to my computer. No, I have no idea how either. In fact, the chances at the moment of anyone ever reading this are slim as I think I've done the same with the email connection.

A very helpful gentleman (does the Dept use those overseas calling companies?) answered every question and things were going swimmingly. Until I asked for the forms. Apparently, the Dept has a machine - very big brother - so that when they type in name and postcode, up pops your residential address. I mentioned that, as the mailbox at my units (this was from back in the day when I lived in a small, grotty block of units on the coast – now, it is a small, grotty reptilian-infused house in the burbs/bush) was open and rain and sprinklers meant everything arriving there got soaked and sat in the puddle that permanently resided in said mailbox, would he mind sending the forms to my PO box.

No. I've already typed in your address".

Can't you change it?"

No".

Why?"

I've already done it."

This went on for some time, enough time for him to have changed the thing ten times, but he was adamant. I told him that I would not get a useable set of forms. "Oh", he said, "in that case, ring me back and I'll send you another set".

Eventually, I got my forms. A little while later, I had some queries and spoke to a delightful and helpful lady from the Dept who had a question for me.

Where's Cuba?" Bursting out laughing (remember that this is the Dept of Immigration) probably wasn't helpful but I gave her general directions. She asked me to wait while she typed something into her computer. "No", she said, "There is no such country". I suggested that this might come as a shock to the eleven million Cubans, let alone those currently enjoying the resort facilities at Guantanamo Bay.

We've all heard the dreadful recorded message telling us that 'this call may be used for training purposes' and I was sorely tempted to suggest she grab the tape and enrol but it is one thing to stick pins in a sleeping bear and quite another to shove a red hot poker up its nostril.

Fortunately, our heroine had a solution. Tell your friend to travel up to Washington DC and she could lodge the visa application there. I enquired as to how she might go about this, given the forty-year embargo. "The what?"

At this point, I mentioned that if she wasn't busy that night, perhaps she might like to rent '13 Days' and decided to try again another time.

Her response? 'Oh, is it any good?' I just said I really didn't want to spoil the ending for her.

I really hope that the good people from the Dept have no interest in wine – and now cigars

KBG