The appeal of officialdom at a distance
Some people might have great expectations when they get those slips from the post office saying that a recommended letter awaits them at the counter. Perhaps a gift from a relative has turned up. I get a frisson of fear.
I usually expect some fine for an unpaid bill or summons to some institution to explain some sins. And nine out of ten times my fears are justified. So, it was with some trepidation that I answered one summons to pick up a letter at the imposing post office in the centre of Mariánské Lázně. Official, it certainly was. But my fears faded away when I read the contents about some high tech data box scheme the Czech government was introducing between all government institutions and businesses.
Somewhere I saw that no payment was required, congratulated the government on its enterprise and myself on not being fined, screwed up the piece of paper and threw it in the back of the car.
A spokesman for the post office confirmed my fears, adding that the system had had a few teething problems but was otherwise working fine. Whereas other countries had made this system voluntary, the Czech Republic had chosen the tough approach to get its information highway going and put traffic on it.
I searched around for the discarded original letter and eventually found it. After some frustration getting to terms with the programme, the password was put in and: nothing, zilch, not even a nasty letter from some pen pusher.
I was a bit disappointed. Nonetheless, when my accountant some time later pointed out some documents that would have to be sent to institutions, I brightened up and suggested the new data box could be employed. “If you use that, you will be the only one in the country who is,” he retorted.
I am not too sure how the bright new institutional highway is now faring. My other half, who understands computers better, said that some new codes or software had at one stage been required and the system became unusable afterwards. Meanwhile, all those paper calls for payment and summons to some official to explain this or that still keep coming.
My experience of those personal encounters has been mixed. I was recently directed by the radio to go seek a document about my tax status from a local council office. The document turned out to be totally superfluous. But the real bonus was when the pleasant tax official rang back to tell the radio not to sent any more people on missions for unnecessary bits of paper. In that battle of bureaucrats there was only one clear winner.
A trip to the foreigners’ police in Cheb to watch my girlfriend sort out some of her problems was less gratifying. The entry hall has a large counter where four officials sat. Business was not brisk – some of Cheb’s large Vietnamese community had just been dealt with though they were hanging about and seemed to have doubts on that count.
We were called, papers produced and an uncomfortable silence followed. My girlfriend had been confident that all the papers needed were in order and this was just a formality. Her optimism was misplaced. It was then that the situation began to get strange with the four officers arguing amongst themselves about what procedure should be followed as if we had become invisible. At one stage, it was suggested we should go to another office around 60 kilometres away. That was enough – my girlfriend, who sometimes has a low boiling point, stormed out.
While subsequent meetings in that building have shown an interesting pluralism on procedural points from behind the glass window, they have not been as explosive. But I wonder if the data box might not be a good idea after all.
