A Tree Full of Screeching Monkeys!

The recent visit to the RTO (DMV in the U.S.) to get a duplicate copy of my driver's license, after losing the original, made me wonder if I had somehow found myself in the middle of a tree full of angry, screeching monkeys.

Yes, I say so because I spent three full hours wandering around the RTO office, being sent from one desk to another, only to be directed back to desks I had already visited. At some point, I started wondering if anyone was actually going to help me for real.

The people who worked there looked upset, angry, and perpetually agitated. Officers were yelling because someone didn't have the right documentation or the exact rectangular slip of paper that was apparently a sacred requirement for signing and approving forms that sat fat and smug inside an ageing, foul-smelling file.

I refused to use the middlemen loitering around the premises. They carried with them a revolting stench of unwashed clothes and stale sweat, grinning through teeth stained with cigarette tar and cheap chewing tobacco. Every now and then one of them would wander over, scratching the side of his head and asking,

"Yenna venum meydam?"
(What do you want, Madam?)

Needless to say, I was beyond frustrated and waved them away.

Eventually, I found myself standing in what appeared to be the middle of the hall. Out of desperation, I clapped five times as loudly as I could and shouted,

"Excuse me! Can one of the employees here help me out?"

For a brief moment, there was complete silence.

A smile crept onto my face at my accomplishment...

...but it vanished almost immediately as the noise resumed and everyone carried on exactly as before after a grand pause of approximately two seconds.

Defeated and humiliated, I was just about ready to give up when I heard a voice behind me.

"Good try, Madam. I think you should do it again... this time louder and longer. Don't give up!"

So I did.

Two officers emerged from behind their desks and approached me. One of them said,

"Hello, Lady. This is a Government Office. I don't appreciate fun activities or inspirational speeches here. You need prior permission from our senior official for doing so. It would be nice if you leave this place immediately before I call the guards."

I was appalled.

I tried explaining that I had been waiting for hours without assistance and that my little performance was simply an attempt to get somebody's attention. In response, I received a lengthy lecture on workplace ethics and why Government Officials should not be disturbed during their busy working hours.

Eventually, after his painfully irrelevant sermon, he did acknowledge my request and informed me that it would be taken care of.

I was also subtly informed that paying more than the required amount would greatly improve the chances of my application being processed in this lifetime. Otherwise, it could be postponed indefinitely.

By the time I walked out, I was exhausted.

I was carrying around a strange feeling that seemed to sit somewhere between frustration, anger, helplessness... and resignation.

To think that I was once the woman who slapped a guy across the face for misbehaving with me on public transport...

...and here I was, quietly tolerating things I knew were wrong because arguing any further felt pointless.

I suppose that's how it happens.

Not all at once.

Just little pieces of courage surrendered here and there, until one day you find yourself accepting hypocrisy as an unavoidable part of life...

...the unmistakable badge of a typical middle-class, middle-aged woman.