Red Tape Tales

The day started very well with an appointment at ANSES (the department of social security) to start the PUAM (pension) application, but I’ll go into that in more detail in a later post.

While at ANSES my main client, a private school, sent me messages to collect a box of electronics from an address in Martinez, try to find a replacement charger and then to pay a cheque into the dreaded Banco Nacion. So after a quick coffee, at 1330 I raced over to the store in Martinez only to find it was closed for lunch. From that moment I had a feeling things were going to go downhill.

Seeing as it was nearly 2 pm and banks close at three, I decided to leave the bank till the last minute because in my experience, there are fewer people. So I acquired a charger at my favourite electronics/gadget shop, Megatronica opposite the Quinta and rode at a leisurely pace to Banco Nacion, parked the bike and strolled into the bank.

To my utter amazement the waiting area was completely empty, so I tapped in my DNI at the terminal, expecting my number to appear immediately since the place was deserted.

I should add here that last year you took a paper number from a roller and the current number would display on the wall, so you would know how many people were before you, just to retain your sanity. There was also a melodic chime when numbers changed. The new system is atrocious because it displays the last four digits of your DNI on a huge TV when your number comes up but you have no way of knowing how long you will have to wait and no sound comes out of the TV. This means that you have to stare at the screen constantly because otherwise you’ll miss your turn.

Still with me?

After ten minutes my number was still not called, so I strode past the screens that hide the cashiers and asked the nearest cashier why my number hadn’t been called, bearing in mind that the bank was empty. Doing that is a cardinal sin which he pointed out very aggressively, so I asked him why he couldn’t just take the cheque and bank it. He said he wouldn’t do that because my number hadn’t been called, so I said “Just tap my number in, then.”

“No, you need to go back, sit down and wait or do some shopping or something.”

“Why?” I asked.

At this point I could tell he was getting angry, shuffling papers about, with his face flushing and I knew I was never going to win this.

I went back to the waiting area, found two people waiting patiently and by this time I was furious, especially since within ten more minutes, their numbers were called before mine.

By 14.45 more people began to arrive and all were served before me and I could see where this was going, so I barged around the screens again and challenged a different cashier who again refused to take my cheque, insisting that I would have to wait for my number to come up.

“You have a job to do, so just do it.” I said angrily, at which point he stood up and disappeared, leaving me to mumble at the glass partition. A few seconds later another cashier appeared, but he ignored me when I asked the same questions, so I returned to the waiting area incandescent with rage.

The time was now 3.10 pm, the security guard had locked the door, opening it for people leaving and I just knew that the last person there would be seen before me. I was right, with my number finally being called at 3.25 pm. Last man standing.

As luck would have it, I was confronted with the tattooed first cashier that I’d pissed off earlier, but I remained polite whilst gritting my teeth.

And here’s the sting – the cheque was post dated and could not be banked until the following day. It was clear he enjoyed telling me that but it didn’t faze me, so I told him that he had no right to be so bloody rude to me which made him madder than ever, at which he too simply disappeared.

I left the bank fuming, amazed that I hadn’t completely lost control, only to find a woman standing next to my bike complaining that it was illegally parked, which it wasn’t, at which she received all the Anglo-Saxon expletives that had been building up for the last hour.

I later informed the client that I would no longer be going to that bank ever again and they could please make their own arrangements.

I should add that tattooed cashier aggressively informed me that bank clients override all others and that cheque payments from non-clients always come last. Which doesn’t explain how I was both first and last when the waiting area was completely empty.

Oh, hang on, it does. They just don’t like people like me who question the system. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.