My Personal Hell on Earth

‘This lady was living my dream! I wasn’t frustrated or angry or insulted by her arrogance, I was jealous!’

IF hell is spending eternity in the place you loathed the most during your life, then my personal hell would for sure be the passport office.

On Thursday, I visited my nightmare place to renew my son’s passport and as always, the Port of Spain passport office did not disappoint.

As I stood, fists clenched and tongue bitten, being lectured by a line checking immigration officer with a severe superiority complex about how all the information on what I needed to bring to renew my child’s passport was on the website (it’s not, sorry lady but no where in the FAQs on the ttpassport website does it address what is needed to renew a child’s passport other than the usual forms), I had an epiphany.

This lady was living my dream! I wasn’t frustrated or angry or insulted by her arrogance, I was jealous!

Therefore, after minimal introspection, I have decided my new path in life is to become a low-ranking immigration officer.

Every morning, I’ll get to wake up, stuff all my feelings of empathy, consideration and caring into a small box at the back of my conscience; those emotions hold me back anyway. After which, I will pour my soulless body into a highly starched uniform, made from an unreasonably thick fabric not suitable for the Caribbean climate. This physical suffering is not a burden, it is what is needed to fuel my discontent for other human beings.

Oh the pleasure I will receive lauding my power over the mere mortals who woke at the crack of dawn, armed with bundles of forms and photocopies, waiting helplessly for me to guide them. Thank goodness we no longer have to get passport-sized photos…

“What mam? You didn’t know you had to come with extra copies of your passport to prove you are this child’s parent, extra copies we absolutely need even though you put your passport information on the form and we have the info in our system, but still need to have it on paper?”

“Mam, I don’t care what you say, it’s on the website… no no don’t open it up on your phone, I don’t watch your phone, it’s there, you just illiterate, go back to school and check me when you can read.”

And no matter how rude I am, or condescending or completely uncaring towards people who may have had problems filling out their forms for various reasons, no one will dare oppose me.

Not a single person will roll their eyes, release a steups, not a complaint or mumble of abuse shall leave their lips, for they know the power I hold. For these peasants know, one whisper from me to my comrades inside and their time at the passport office can become even more unpleasant.

I am the gatekeeper, the decider of what mood you will be in for the rest of the day. I will do all I can to ensure that mood is horrible.  For I am the rotten apple of the public service, who stains the reputation of all public servants. My shadow of arrogance blots out the kind, caring work of many other public servants and tarnishes their reputation. Boohoo for them, I care not.

Alicia, why would you want this for yourself?

Simple, deep down I am a crap person and the thought of being paid to be a royal (word deleted and replaced with) pain fills my decomposing heart with joy.

Oh, to have such lofty dreams.

It should, however, be noted, the majority of those whom I dealt with at the passport office were lovely, accommodating people. Unfortunately, it’s people like Downer Debbie on the sidewalk that give the thousands of amazing public servants a bad name.

My apologies for this complete pile of ridiculousness I have subjected you too, but I couldn’t bare having to write another article on the La Basse fire that is our nation at the current moment. Also, two at home antigen tests and a PCR, concluded I am suffering from a good old cold (how vintage) and the copious amount of antihistamines I have dosed myself with have left me slightly jelly headed.

Happy Saturday!