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Fucked Up College Kids File 231
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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I Could Not Make Him Understand...
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I was at the DMV the other day. It's not something I like to do on a
regular basis, but... it is slightly preferable to spending the night in
jail because you don't have all your paperwork in order.
I walked in and ... nothing... nothing at all... not a single solitary
goddamned thing. I waited in a long line, for a long time. Waiting,
waiting to be called on by some overpaid un-needed civil servant. Yes,
the phrase is civil servant.
The question I have is this: Why is the hell do they call themselves
civil servants when their job duties are demanding service _from_ me, by
force of law? The only *service* they provide is to accept the needless
paperwork which they demand of me. Hardly my idea of a service. I
wasn't exactly considering leaving a tip.
So there I was, waiting. Doing nothing. Wasting my time. Giving to
the government more of the short amount of lifespan I have been granted
on this earth. Recently, I switched jobs. I am now an overpaid hourly
contractor. Every minute I spent standing in that needless line waiting
to fill out that needless paperwork cost me money. Every dollar I
didn't make meant a dollar that the government could not tax. I lost
revenue. The government lost revenue. And what was the purpose for all
of this waiting? To get a new little plastic card to replace my old
little plastic card.
Eventually, my turn was up. The little man behind the counter stared at
me as I slid my old little plastic card across the counter. The little
man stared at his little terminal for a long time as if it were the
Oracle at Delphi. The little man proceeded to explain to me that the
little green letters glowing on his screen meant that I would not be
able to get a new little plastic card to replace my old little plastic
card.
I am, according to most people who know me, a computer genius. The
little man was most definitely not. I calmly explained to him that the
little green growing letters were simply not telling him the truth and
that a simple phone call to an actual human would straighten everything
out and allow me to go on about my business.
I could not make him understand. The little man worshipped his little
terminal with the little green glowing letters. To the little man, his
terminal represented the entirety of the American system. His terminal
was how the government chose to comunicate to him. The government that
fed him, clothed him, sheltered him, gave his life meaning -- this
terminal was his link with that government.
I, on the other hand, was just a filthy human. I was the source of all
of the little mans problems. The benevolent goverment paid him to come
to this place and talk with this terminal and all day long filthy humans
would come in and bother him. I was one of those filthy humans. I
wanted something from him. I was being a burden upon him. And the
little green glowing letters on the terminal said that I was not to have
what I came for..
Eventually, I left. I returned some time later with a little white
piece of paper. The little white piece of paper was not as magic as the
little green glowing letters on the little terminal, but it would do. It
would do because it was (ostensibly) a little white piece of paper from
another branch of the little mans benevolent government. What the little
white piece of paper said was that I, the filthy human, was telling the
truth. Little matter that the little piece of paper was printed on a
cheap dot matrix printer and could have been forged with less effort
than it would take to fake a simple cash register receipt.
The little man took my old little plastic card and had me fill out some
more needless paperwork. Then he told me to go sit and wait some more.
After that a big woman told me to stand in front of an expensive camera.
The expensive camera displayed my picture on a computer screen. The big
woman then told me to sign my name on an expensive electronic pad and
press my right thumb against another expensive electronic pad. Then,
unsuprisingly at this point, she told me to go wait some more.
After quite a long time and quite a bit of lost revenue for both myself
and the IRS, the big woman called my name. I walked over and she handed
me a new little plastic card to replace my old little plastic card. I
still don't understand what was so wrong with my old little plastic
card.
During this whole ordeal, I was more than a bit angry. I do not like
wasting my time, whether or not it is billable time. Even if I am not
billing for my time, I have quite an impressive list of other projects
that I would much rather do than whiling away the hours at the local
Department of Motor Vehicles.
The little man... his reality is his little terminal with the little
green glowing letters. The big woman, her reality is her expensive
camera. Neither of them could understand why on earth I might be angry
with them. To their way of thinking, they were doing me a favor. They
were giving me one of these very important and valuable little plastic
cards. I should be grateful for the service they were rendering.
Except, they weren't rendering a service. They were merely acting as
tools of a police state. Left to my own resources, I would have no need
for a little plastic card. The government has mandated that *I* must
have a current little plastic card, under threat of imprisonment. How
then can I look upon the employees of the Department of Motor Vehicle
employees as civil servants? Instead, it appears that I am a civilian
servant of my governmental masters.
To my way of thinking, the little man was a representative of an
oppressive totalitarian regime. To his way of thinking, he was just
reading little green glowing letters off of his little terminal and
doing what he was told.
I would have loved to explain how I felt to the little man, but I just
could not make him understand.
Epilogue:
Herein lies a truth about a great trouble looming over our country today.
The nation is polarizing, dividing into two disparate groups of
individuals. Individuals who are so far apart they are unable to
understand the positions of those on the other side of the great fixed
gulf. Over 100 years ago, Abraham Lincoln stated that "No nation divided
against itself can long endure." Today, we are seeing the beginnings of
a nation dividing against itself. Unlike our nations earlier conflict,
this one does not divide us geographically. The opposing parties are
neighbors. Our children attend the same schools. We buy groceries at the
same stores. We cheer for the same football teams. And yet... we do not
communicate. We talk, but the vast philosophical space separating our
disparate positions prevents us from truly communicating.
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