A dinkum Aussie trying to find his way out of the swamp of bureaucracy:
Dear Mr. Minister,
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that Radio Shack has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a t.v. cable from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date.
For crying out loud - do you guys do this by hand? My birth date you have on my social insurance card, is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30 years, my health insurance card, my driver's license, on the last eight bloody passports I've had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the planes over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that are done at election times.
Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Susan, my father's name is Lloyd and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and when I die!
I apologize, Mr. Minister. I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you an' me, I've had enough! You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my address. What is going on? You have a gang of Neanderthals workin' there?!
Look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for crying out loud. I just want to go and park my butt on a sandy beach. And would someone please tell me, why would you give a *bleep* whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days?! If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city and get another copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $60! Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day?? Nooooo, that'd be too easy and maybe make sense.
You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens with our heads cut off, then find some *bleep* to confirm that it's really me on the stupid picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to smile?!
Dear Mr. Minister,
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that Radio Shack has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a t.v. cable from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date.
For crying out loud - do you guys do this by hand? My birth date you have on my social insurance card, is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30 years, my health insurance card, my driver's license, on the last eight bloody passports I've had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the planes over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that are done at election times.
Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Susan, my father's name is Lloyd and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and when I die!
I apologize, Mr. Minister. I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you an' me, I've had enough! You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my address. What is going on? You have a gang of Neanderthals workin' there?!
Look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for crying out loud. I just want to go and park my butt on a sandy beach. And would someone please tell me, why would you give a *bleep* whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days?! If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city and get another copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $60! Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day?? Nooooo, that'd be too easy and maybe make sense.
You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens with our heads cut off, then find some *bleep* to confirm that it's really me on the stupid picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to smile?!
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