The impotence of service people: A Government Office Experience

Step 1: “May I Speak to the Manager?” 

you enter a government office bright-eyed and hopeful, ready to finish the simple task of, oh, I don’t know, getting a piece of paper signed. Nothing too complex, just some ink on paper. You’re feeling optimistic—it’s early, and surely, they haven’t had time to marinate in their usual grumpiness, right? Wrong. The minute you step in, you’re greeted by the first line of defense: “ይቅርታ የኛ ስራ አደለም go to the next office on floor….”

So, you take a deep breath and politely ask where you should go. Cue the blank stare. You might think this is a moment of deep thought, but no—this is merely the first phase of silent treatment warfare. After what feels like a mini eternity, they point vaguely in a direction as if playing a cruel game of ‘hot or cold.’

And for someone like me with the sense of direction, of a sea turtle. This is infuriating. Like a fucking ostrich, I sometimes walk around the city and forget where I am heading. Who am I kidding ? I am too short to be an ostrich.

Now, you walk over to the next desk, hopeful once more. Maybe this person will break the chain of unhelpfulness? Nope. This one looks at you like you’ve just interrupted their life's mission of doing absolutely nothing. They mutter something unintelligible in a tone that’s part disdain, part ‘Why are you still here?’ You ask again, this time more desperate. Oh, now you’ve done it—the rude tone is activated.

“ተራሸን ጠብቂ.” Followed by a long sigh. You take a deep breath and ask what is required or what things you might need to bring.

She looks at you as if she is insulted, “ምታረጊውን አታቂም እንዴ?” She scoffs, “ምንም አያስፈልግም.” So you head to the waiting area only to find out there are 90 people infront of you.

Yes, because clearly, you enjoy wasting your time hopping from desk to desk like a character in some government-themed video game. Level up!

Stage 2: The Silent Treatment Deluxe Edition

After exhausting yourself trying to extract even a shred of useful information, you realize something profound: they have given up on you. They don’t want to help, and they don’t care if you know it. They sit there, staring past you, pretending you don’t exist, as if ignoring you long enough will make you disappear. And maybe, for a moment, you wish it would. But no, you’re still there, determined to win this uphill battle of wills.

Then Of Course their lunch break is a priority. ድሮንም ሰው ስራ ሲፈታ ሆዱን ብቻ ነው ሚያስበው. So you wait and wait and wait.....then they show up two hours late.

If you are lucky and you get your turn, you head to another office or another window. Then they ask you “do you have this and that…..” A list of all the things “You should've brought with you!”

Step 3: The embarrassing yourself 

So like any menstruating woman who has been through this circus act one too many times, the emotions hit you like a freight train. And so, you do what any emotionally drained, underappreciated, and completely ignored person would do: you cry your eyes out.

The tears, surprisingly, work. Suddenly, there’s a flicker of movement. Is it a concern? Sympathy? Nah, it’s more like mild discomfort mixed with confusion. Crying isn’t part of their training manual—they’re used to yelling, angry complaints, maybe the occasional bribe attempt. But tears? That’s a curve ball.

But still No one cares. You are past your ugly crying now. You’ve already spiraled into an existential crisis about how something as simple as getting a signature turned into an Olympic-level endurance test. But sure, ask me what’s wrong like we haven’t been stuck in this passive-aggressive dance for the past five hours.

By the time they begrudgingly agree to do their job—yes, their actual job—you’ve lost all sense of victory. There’s no triumph here, only the hollow feeling of having survived yet another round of government office roulette. Still this is just the first step as they give the time and date for your next appointment. 

Apparently, in the world of government bureaucracy, respect, basic information, and kindness are hard to come. Even with your discomfort. Nay, especially with your discomfort and disappointment. 
Is it too much to ask for a little decency? Apparently, yes. So I continued with my ugly crying and walked all the way home.