Saturday, September 15, 2007

A bureaucratic week

The past week I've literally jostled myself from different points in the city, or at least in the downtown area. Name every clearance one has to accomplish in transferring work, I labored through all of it. Perhaps I'm yakking because I never went through this bureaucratic shit when I applied for the job which I just left yesterday.

I never had the patience queueing up. When I got to the NBI processing center in one of the malls (this is first thing when the mall opened), people just attacked the information guy like he was Dao Meng Su. Uh-oh, I said to myself I'm never gonna bust myself through this so I went to process another one of the clearances.

This is also the first time I subjected myself to a medical clearance. Just when I thought that life can't get anymore shittier than mine, I realize that some people go through shit everyday of their life. And I mean a lot of shit. Some soft in consistency.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

wait till you experience a medical career and you'll know the deepest meaning of bureaucratic.

Jap said...

Ugh. Just the thought of it to go through all that again. The police clearance was a breeze though. Good luck with that, Jay.

Anonymous said...

Dao Meng Su? kinsa na?

So, tinudanay na jud diay na jay? hawa na jud diay ka? GOOD LUCK man!

jayclops said...

@ Meloi: So what's medical bureacracy like? Hehe. Think about the urgency of saving lives... Hehehe.

@ Pablo and Jap: Thanks a lot mga kuya. Hahaha.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting