Fuck You Idiocracy

I arrived at his office dripping wet.

What I love about Manila is that it only costs NZ $3 to take a 40 minute taxi ride. What I hate about Manila is that when you arrive, the driver is not allowed to stop at your destination because it's a 'no-loading zone' - and is ushered to keep driving for another 2 kilometers by a man with a gun and a silly fluorescent jacket. Thanks for ruining my nicely pressed shirt wanker.

I arrived at Francis' office. His is the 3rd party company used to arrange my contract and all the small details like visa's, bank accounts etc. I have been in Manila approximately 6 weeks and have just had my tourist visa extended, so that I am not illegal until my work permit gets processed, which can take 1-2 months.

He has had my passport for 2 weeks now. I was getting nervous, as I couldn't travel and I had no other ID.

Sweat was running down my back - I shouldn't have worn a suit today. I'm late to meet Francis due to bad Manila traffic, and I have back to back meetings for the rest of the day… which I'm probably going to be late for.

As I arrive he came out to meet me, then asked me to wait. I am only coming in to pick up my passport so that I can go to the bank to receive my first pay cheque.

10 minutes later I start to get frustrated, we had exchanged SMS while I was in the taxi so he knew that I was coming, how long does it take to get a passport and hand it to me? A good friend once said if you don't have high expectations you don't get disappointed… but seriously I'm going to spit in somebody's face soon.

He pulls me into a meeting room and asks me to complete another two forms - because I had made minor mistakes on each. I have already completed approximately 9 forms as part of my job application - work permit, bank account, tax number, job application, skill form, visa extension and only god knows what else. Do I really have to lower my expectations further?

Yes.

After dry humping Francis' forms, I had to visit the bank to receive a large wad of pesos. To my suprise, Francis informed me that the bank is a 20 minute cab ride away. After I would have to return my passport to his office so that he can continue to process the work permit. Is this country on drugs? I'm struggling to process this. I can't go to any branch of Metrobank? I'm in the CBD surely there is one closer?

No. Of course not.

It was fucking 32 degrees, high humidity and I needed to jump in another cab - which again required me to walk two fucking kilometers away where they allow loading of stupid potatoes like me. I paced down the street swerving through the crowd of meandering Filipinos like a dorky speed walker with a carrot up my ass doing an obstacle course. I hesitated outside McDo's (McDonalds if you're a potato like me), tempted to drop in for some comfort food, but decided it would impact my critical path, and my health. My priority was getting back to the office for meetings.

After another sweaty taxi ride, I arrived at the bank, and grabbed for my passport which was placed in my back pocket. It wasn't there?!?! FUCK!!! I must have left it in the taxi! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Ok please excuse my language. I was reaching a low point here. I entered the bank in a panic, considering whether i should run through the traffic after the taxi which I have no recollection of, or search my person one more time. A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and landed on my nearly retired brown leather shoe.

After rifling through my laptop bag inside the bank hoping upon all hope that I had left it inside, I re-checked my pockets. Oh… oops - its in my front pocket. False alarm! I guess stress really does cloud judgement. Lucky I didn't chase the taxi down and make an idiot out of myself!

It was suddenly obvious that I needed to apply some Bahala Na (loosely translated to "come what may") attitude. I was inside the bank. I had everything I need. I was going to get my cash and go back to Francis to give him my passport. How hard could this be?

Oh wait - I forgot. I needed to give my landlord post-dated cheques for the next 10 months, before he gives me the TV that was promised by the landlord. It is part of my contract, and of all the apartments I looked at, this was one of the more lenient terms. The apartment lacked a TV when I moved in 4 weeks ago - and although I have paid 2 months rent in advance and 2 months bond, he will not give me the TV I deserve until I complete my end of the bargain. I have never met him, but I strongly dislike him. Money hungry dickhead.

The bank girl that helped me was friendly and moderately attractive, possibly a 6 out of 10. She threw a flurry of forms at me to sign. I asked the post-dated cheques and she asked me to fill in more forms. 10 minutes later she came back to me and said she was not able to give me a cheque account as I needed to have an active ATM account for at least 6 months. I let out a loud exasperated sigh that the whole bank could hear.

In vein I raised my voice "This is not good enough, I need a cheque account for my apartment - I signed a contract, I have no other options! Is there anything you can do?!?"

She said "Sorry sir, I confirmed it with my supervisor, it is our policy"

No wonder there is corruption here. It is easier to pay extra, than to follow all the overly-anal rules and procedures.

I asked to speak with her supervisor. She looked nervous. She went away and came back another 10 minutes later and gave me more forms to sign without saying anything - this time for the cheque account. I was curious - does getting upset in public work here? Throw a tantrum and you get your way? Interesting...

I left the bank with cash and a cheque book… but i had already missed my first meeting and I was concerned about my next. I decided that I would drop into KFC to grab a quick burger to eat in the cab back to Francis' office.

"Hello Sir!" Ahhh - the ever polite Filipino fast food armed security guard. Unfortunately his politeness didn't make up for the young man at the counter who asked if I minded waiting 15 minutes for a burger to be made. 15 MINUTES?! This was the icing on the cake. I considered saying "would you like me to fill out an application form?" but decided the question would be met with a confused look, and probably an apathetic apology.

I considered walking out, but my time invested in walking inside and up the stairs was worth compromising my burger thirst. I got a salad.

I jumped back in a taxi and headed to the taxi drop off spot, 2kms away from my actual destination. My plastic tasting KFC chicken salad tossed itself in my lap to the noise of the squeaky suspension. I ate it with ferocity, brooding over the events of the morning.

I escaped the taxi, power walked the 2km's to Francis' office - aware that my shirt was again soaking in stinky man fluid… for the 3rd time today. As I ran into the lift the man sitting in the corner controlling the buttons smiled genuinely and greeted me politely and remembered my floor from earlier in the morning.

I paused.

I thought to myself: he sits in that non air-conditioned lift, on that chair, day after day after day. Pressing buttons. Earning just enough to feed his family, and buy new leather work shoes every 2 years. He's 55 and will probably continue sitting in that same lift for another 20 years until he retires due to illness. I had in my bag more money than he would probably earn in 5 years, possibly 10. I could not imagine doing his numb, meaningless job for even a day.

I suddenly had a very lucid 'moment' to myself. I exited the lift with a deep breath and a broad, uncontrollable grin, and realized even with all this futile hassle over forms, visas and bank accounts - I wouldn't swap bullshit idiocratic paper work and shit sweat errands for anything. My life is fucking great and I LOVE THE PHILIPPINES!

I don't apologise for the cheesy conclusion that sounds like a forwarded mass email. Fuck you if you don't like it.