4 Good Hours of My Life on a No-Good Thing.

As some of you may have heard, I went to ICA on Tuesday after receiving a letter from ‘em. Apparently, in that letter, I would be interviewed by one of their officers who would then decide if I could be granted possession of a passport. That certainly raised my hopes up. To tell you the truth, I was pretty sure I would get it.  Real confident. The interview was just a formality, I thought.

So I went to school first to start off band practice at 8, and at 9 plus, I sneaked off to Lavender. Now, I’ve been to ICA A LOT OF TIMES, and I have NEVER seen so many people there before. There were no seats in the collection area… darn holidays! Everybody seems to be there to renew/ extend/ create passports all of a sudden.

I went to the info counter to get a queue no. and after seeing my letter, the officer gave me 2 numbers. “One for the interview, and the other one for application”. Now you tell me- wasn’t that a sure sign that I am DEFINITELY getting the passport? Huh? Huh?

No. of people in the queue: Whoa. 66. Somehow the number being called was nearly 200 away from mine. How’d they do the math?
The time printed on that slip: 10.01am. Sure. I could queue all day if you want honey- I came well-armed with a WHOLE BOOK of sudoku puzzles and my PSP- just as long as I get the passport…

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3 hours passed.

I was cursing and spewing vulgarities under my breath. My PSP battery had gone flat, I finished half of my sudoku puzzles, which resulted in a splitting headache; I was starving, not having eaten anything since morning and I needed to pee – but didn’t dare to leave my seat for fear of my number being called. (They DID say the number may not be called in order, right?) One by one the counters started to close for lunch. More vulgarities (e.g ‘Mak dia punya dot dot dot!!!!’) as the word “COUNTER CLOSED” flashed. The newborn babies (and there were MANY) were pissing me off. Too much noise. I wish I could express my irritation just like them. UWEKKKKKK!! UWEKKKKKK!!!!!

FINALLY… my number appeared. I wiped my sweat and tears and sprinted to the counter.

Okay not really. Gotcha there, didn’t I?

I quickly changed my ‘PISSED’ face to the ‘PLEASE…’ face. I don’t want to be pissing off that officer at the counter.

She definitely wasn’t the officer I was supposed to meet, but it could be a good thing, I thought. Well in retrospect now, perhaps it is a bad thing afterall. I showed her my letter from THE MP which, funnily enough, gave me a false sense of power and confidence. Heh. Action like real only. She checked my details, I briefed her about the situation (minus the part about how I lost the damn thing three times, not that she asked) and she said she had to consult her superior first.

Dalam hati-  alamak ni yang tak sedap ni…. Toksah tanya ler kak… iyerkan aje, kata omputeh ‘take initiative’ lah gitu. Kalau nak kena tanya-tanya dulu, camne Melayu nak maju, kak?

Sigh. Looks like the ESP technique tak menjadi.

I waited at the seat for about 10 minutes, wondering where the hell she’d gone too, and praying, wishing and hoping that the boss gave her a big nod.

She came back again. Then she said I can apply for the one-time travel document which will cost me $75…

and I said, “Sorry- WHAT?”

I guess it was her way of breaking it to me gently and subtly that her damn superior (ASS!) said NO. I have to complete my 1 year ban, no matter what.

Okayyyy… so it’s not three years, that’s the good news. Well it could be BETTER news, couldn’t it? I returned one of the reported lost passports to the ICA, hoping that that they could shorten the ban duration. Fine- so, from three years, I’m down to one. So should I be thankful? 

 But doesn’t the letter from the MP do ANYTHING? Like- discount a few more MONTHS at least?

No, the helpless officer said. Perhaps she muttered under her breath, You think I SCARED ijjit, with your MP’s letter and all? You could get a letter from LKY for all I care, but we are so punishing you still with a ban,  missy, just so you know how powerful we ICA officers are.  Muahahahhaha. You may be powerful in school because you get to whoop my son’s ass (metaphorically speaking of course), but WHO’S the ass-whooper now (literally speaking, of course)? Huh?!! HUH??!!!!

I felt like bursting into tears there and then. Really. I had to hold back my tears, and not bloody go hysterical at the counter. I got desperate and pleaded with her. Please, kak, I really NEED this passport- I’m a teacher (“SO????”) and I need to bring my students to overseas trips next year… (“SOOOO????? Is that information useful to me?”)

No, said the smiling officer. Probably getting a kick out of this, eh, kak?

Then I got angry. Should I get violent here? Because if I could, I would have said (and banged the counter):

I queued for NEARLY FOUR HOURS, doesn’t that count for something???!!! Actually SIX hours, if you count in the wait I painfully endured trying to speak to the MP! I had to sneak out of school, damn it, and this is all you have for me? Telling me, oh, you can travel, but it will cost you an exorbitant price of SEVENTY-FIVE dollars for ONE trip and we can only issue you the document in a week’s time? DAMN YOUUUUUU!
*all this I would have said in my ‘exorcist’ growl*

With my head down, I walked away from the freaking counter, then proceeded to another one (*bangs head on wall*) to apply for the ‘temporary travel document’. Screw you all. You ain’t stopping me from going on holiday, no siree…. 75 bucks it is, just so your blardy boss can dry clean his only suit for his next ‘escaped high-profile convict’ press release!

I left the cursed building at 2pm. Four good hours of my life, wasted in this hellhole. And looks like I will going there again on Saturday, and at least 5 times more until next April, braving the crowd (who are also there with their WHOLE FAMILY for WHATTT????? For petty things like ‘change picture’ or ‘renew passport’ yadaa yadaa yadaa…)

It’s times like these that I wish our government officers are a teeny-weeeeeeeeny corrupt.
DAMN IT, SG, for being squeaky clean!!!!

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