Wyn Drabble: Evidence that the world is broken

Would you like me to offer another personal example of evidence that the world is broken? You would? Great! Then I shall.

I belong to a professional organisation and to remain a practising professional I
need to renew my membership every three years. The need to renew was imminent so recently I mustered up the will to do it online.

User name okay. Password forgotten. You know the routine. So I asked to be sent an interim password but it didn’t send me one. Instead it told me that I was no longer registered with the organisation, that my membership had lapsed.

I tried again over several days thinking this must be some sort of technical glitch. It wasn’t. I grew so frustrated that I finally phoned the organisation’s national head office. I told the telephonist my plight and she looked me up on her system.

She found the problem.

“Your membership account has lapsed because you haven’t been using it. We ‘tidy up’ when accounts appear dormant and we delete them.”

“But I only need to use it every three years! And that’s why I’m here now. Did you need me to keep checking in at regular intervals and letting you know how I’m doing – update my blood sugar levels and that sort of thing?”

“Sorry, we delete dormant accounts.”

“Well, here is advance notice that when you reactivate it for me – you will, won’t you – I will once again only use it in three years.”

“Okay, I will send you a new password and you’ll be up and operational again.”

“And, if I’m not very active for three years, you won’t render me non-existent again?”

“No. Promise.”

Perhaps my finest example happened in Australia in the 80s. I have told you this tale before but that was several decades ago and repeating it is justified because it’s appropriate to today’s topic.

I was self-employed and my accountant had made meaning of my jottings and bags of receipts. I submitted my return to the tax department but minus my IRD number because I didn’t know it.

Eventually the letter came. “Thank you for submitting your tax return. Unfortunately we are unable to process it as you have not supplied your IRD number. We have included a pre-paid envelope so you can send the number to us and we can then proceed with your return.”

I decided to phone the office.

Me: Hello, etc (I didn’t actually say etc, I just mean there were probably other preliminary pleasantries). I have filed my return but you can’t furnish it because I haven’t supplied my IRD number. That is because I don’t know it. Where can I get it?

Tax person: We’ve got it here.

Me: But you’ve sent me an envelope to send it back to you when you’ve got it already and I haven’t.

Tax Person: Correct.

Me: Then I’ve got a good idea. Given that you’ve got it, why don’t you tell it to me, I’ll write it on a piece of paper, pop it into the envelope you sent me and mail it back to you.

Tax Person: We’re not allowed to give that information over the phone.

Me: !!*#+^%!

From memory I asked for a supervisor who fortunately saw the ridiculous irony in the whole situation. He was good enough to fill in the blank bit of the submitted form. He even told me the number so that I would have it for future use (but he wasn’t really allowed to do that so don’t tell anyone).

I determined to use it on my tax returns every year from then on.

In hindsight, it was probably so my IRD membership wouldn’t lapse.

Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, public speaker and musician.