My day at SSS

I had the bright idea to start the day early. Go to the SSS branch in Parian to apply for an ID and be finished before lunch, that way I can get my nails done, start on my Cougartown dvd and perhaps a couple rounds jogging.

Of course, when you're dealing with government offices, things don't always go according to plan. No, that would be too easy. After braving the early Tuesday morning rush from Elbi to Parian -which entails quite a few stop lights that take forever to change and several elementary schools where jeeps and tricycles alike clog the highway - I went inside the office. After filling out the E6 form I hurriedly downloaded online before going here, I was promptly informed by the security guard that SSS has issued a nationwide halt to processing ID's. Wtf? He said I should just wait for announcements on print or TV when the issuing will resume. I laughed. I actually did. I wanted to pull out the huge piece of guava I bought at the jeep terminal and throw it to his smug face.

I asked for the phone number of their particular branch so I may be able to just call in for updates. He told me to ask one of the clerks in front. I approached a man who saw me from the corner of his eye when I tried a couple of times to call him. "Sir? Pwede magtanong?" In typical government employee style, he finally looked up and gave me a bored yet irritated look. I asked where I can apply for an ID and he told me to go to the San Pablo branch.

Great.

So I headed back South and two hours and endless traffic jams later, I was at the SPC office, where an opportunisict tryc driver charged me 30 bucks for the short trip from the church to the branch. I was hot, irate and just want to get this thing over and done with.

Later on, after I had my form stamped, I fell in line for the picture taking. I pulled number 90 from the hook and plunked down a chair. The sour-faced man behind the desk, who was curtly calling out numbers in a gruff voice, was entertaining number 62.

Luveeet. Thank God I had my iPod and a good book with me. I held on to my number tightly, for I noticed the old woman beside me (who was clutching number 113) eyeing my card several times. Mahirap na.


Dozens of pages read and several On-The-Go lists later, Manong Sungit finally called number 88. It was five minutes before 12 noon. The ladies beside me where saying it would close for lunch. True enough, Manong turned off the lights and emerged, giving us all a dirty look, muttering, "Di nga ko nag-break buong umaga eh," and would disappear until a few minutes before one.

I took the time to eat and noticed that Ultimart has gone from the typical provincial clusters of commercial spaces that we used to go to whenever we want to watch movies (no Olivarez or Waltermart yet) or shop. There's a Mango outlet, a Figaro, Mang Inasal and Red Ribbon, among others. Shala!

Thankfully, when I got back, #89 was nowhere to be found and I was processed quickly. I don't know if Manong S is a man of few words or he has a really bad case of halitosis, but he barely uttered words except for when he called my number. He merely signaled for me to sit, look here, press fingerprints and sign. I was about to ask him if the stub would be enough for a loan application, but he swiftly dismissed me by calling out, "Number 91!"

Pak!