The morning began auspiciously. At the Licensing Office in St James, the staff had come to work. The day before, members of the public who had braved the back-to-school traffic and stomped up the flight of stairs could get nothing done because the cashier had not made it to work. And the day before that, there was no typist.
I wore my best smile, filled out the bright yellow form to renew my permit, got in line and did not faint in the heat.
At the first window, a cheerful young man with zirconia studs in both ears welcomed us with a hearty, “Good morning.’’ He was good at banter, too. Not too fresh, not too corny. “Let me see a smile,’’ he teased.
When the cashier’s machine broke down and we all groaned like camels whose backs could not bear another straw, he left his booth, stepped into the waiting area and soothed our fraying nerves. He apologised and told us everything would be okay. He was wrong because the machine kept breaking down but at least he tried and behaved like a human being rather than a cog hammered into a wheel. Too bad some of his colleagues did not follow his lead.
A door was flung open. The voice of someone who had not taken her happy pills that morning, shouted, “Olive-e-e-errrr, Olive-e-e-rrrrrr! It have any Oliver here?’’
An elderly man approached. “You eh hear your name calling?’’ she snapped.
I swallowed my tongue. Smart people avoid getting cross with employees in government offices who have it in their power to ruin your day.
But I broke my own rule when I encountered the nominee for Employee of the Month.
Miss Congeniality: “Put back on your glasses.’’
Me (innocently): “Why?’’
Miss C (grumpily): “Because there is a restriction on your permit. You need corrective lenses.’’
Me (as cute and charming as ever): “That’s why I wear contact lenses. In my expired permit, I did not wear my glasses.’’
Miss C (in her school principal-chastising a small child snarl): “You can ask the Transport Commissioner why there is a restriction on your permit and while you doing that, you can step aside and let somebody else take their picture.’’
Me (all sweetness and light): “I am just asking.”
Miss C (her halo slipping rakishly over one eye): “I am answering you!’’
I could have continued our exhilarating conversation on the limits of logic but instead, I stared into the Cyclops of a camera and was further reprimanded by a scowl and sent on my way.
Later, at home, consolation was in short supply.
He: “You know you have an attitude too.’’
Me (indignantly): “I was on my best behaviour. She was rude.’’
He: “She probably has a difficult job, dealing with a bunch of people all day.’’
Me: “So do I! When she gets her passport renewed, would she want the immigration officer to be snarky with her? The person she is roughing up today could turn out to be the doctor she bounces up in the hospital when she is sick. Or the bank manager handling her loan application. The people you get vex with today might just be the people you need tomorrow.’’
The joke was on me, in the end. Because I had let Pollyanna penetrate my force field, I ended up frowning at the evil camera. And the spectacles, combined with the holograph on the permit, gave me an odd serial-killer glint in my eye.
He: “Nice picture.’’
Me: “Grrrrrrr.’’