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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
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Tapping at my chamber door




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تطعيم ضد البطيـــخ

Today, after a one good year streak of trying to avoid any kind of encounter with our beloved government, I willingly chose to get back into the game. I had to get a vaccine shot against… err… something that I can't even pronounce. Dumbstruck I was when I realized that those public sector health centers had their weekends shifted to Fridays and Saturdays, same as mine, instead of the good ol' Thursdays and Fridays, hence I had to either take a day off from work just to go and get that shot or to try and get a one authorized hour before heading to work. I should have known that it ain't that easy in Egypt. I must have forgotten what it's like.

So I headed to the office and asked some dude 'So what do I need to do in order to get a vaccine against whatever?'. He said that I needed to pay the fees first fel khazna in order to proceed with my request. So I said 'Alright. So where's the khazna?'

Unlike ordinary government entities, ours tend to locate different departments far away from each other as possible. Perhaps Egyptians find it fun to go through the hassle of locating the right person for the job in question, a good time killer perhaps; or maybe there are hidden cameras located everywhere, a big brother sort of shit, where top level monarchists can watch and laugh their asses off. Naaah… my theory is that the more you kill your countrymen's time, the less time they have to worry about how good their government really is.

So, apparently, el khazna was located across the street, and off I went chasing time, crossing a street jam-packed with vehicles. I walked into what was supposed to be a health department office. It was basically a six-room apartment. Each room had at least five door signs signifying the grave importance of each room. Signs such as edaret el tebb el weqa2y, edaret el teb el nafsy, edaret el teb el psychopaty, and the list never ends. All hung on each and every door. I, curious as I am, walked into some of them only to find one or two desks per room. Yup! That's it! Empty ones. There was also the switch room with a sign on it saying 'Mamnoo3 tanweer el noor'. Ya far7ety!!

There was also the secretary room. I also checked that one out. In there I found fifteen desks with at least thirty women in there jabbering like a fucking machine gun. They talked as if it's the end of the world and there was an important message that needed to be told. Each of those women talked and didn't listen. In fact, I don't even think that they cared enough for a reply. I didn't even know who they were talking to or where that would even count as a conversation?!

So anyways, I found a room with a door sign that said EL KHAWANA that I later realized was El Khazna written by what can only be assumed to be a five year old with Down syndrome. I FOUND THE KHAZNA… Hallelujah… and the door was locked. 'So where's the khazna dude?', I asked. 'Oh he's authorized to arrive late today, an hour late'. WTF man!! Well, alright. So I checked a sign PRINTED in small font that said that the Khazna dude arrives at 9:30. So why the hell does the daily shift start at 9 when the khazna dude, who's supposed to be the preliminary access point to all other services, arrives later than all the others? What do they even do from 9 to 9:30? Oh well… I'll just wait and pray.

So it's 9:30 and my rage leaked out from my bleeding brain. 'Where's the manager?', I asked some lady (Did you ever realize that all women who work at government entities look the same?). She said 'Well, asl Sala7 7ay2addem eseqalto orayyeb.'

Oh they should have given that expression I owned deep within at that point a name.

'Sala7 meen?'

'Sala7 beta3 el khazna', smiled the government thing.

'Wana maly? Meen makano?', I asked with tears leaking down my brain.

'Ramadan masek makano', said the thing.

'We feen Ramadan?'

She said 'Well, he went to pick up the general manager to drive her to work'.

Another unnamed expression took over.

'So is he the health center's driver too?'

She said 'No. He's probably on his way… MA3LESH'

Ahhh… the word that works magic. We should replace that pointless eagle we've had on our flag since forever with that word.

And so I waited for what seemed like a decade. I knew I was going to be late for work; another 70 pounds ripped out of my paycheck… and then it happened!

Some dude who looked like he should be driving a prison bus walked past me and into the secretary room… and the machine gun jabber talk stopped for one second then continued with a newly added tenor. I asked some lady in one of those five-department rooms, 'Oh please don't tell me that that's Ramadan'.

She walked in there, called Ramadan, and he wrote me a receipt for the payment on a piece of crap, not paper… CRAP!! And off I ran across the road. They gave me the shot; stung like hell (are those even nurses? Are those even human?). I put my shirt back only to find blood all over the shirt.

I couldn't comment. I still can't. What would it be good for anyways? Another Ma3lesh perhaps?! Fuck it!

I left with blood all over my shirt, pain in my head, and off to work… with a promise that I'd come back and submit a complaint. Am I even the first one to do that? Anybody? If we lived in a normal system, such a complaint would get 9-10 people fired, at least; but this ain't even a system, is it? This is BATTEEEKH!!

I guess that the true vaccine I needed to inoculate myself with should have been in avoidance with incredible systems like ours.

I quote a friend of mine who said that such acts of incompetence are fun when you're really bored.

I agree.

Ya ah ya ah!!

This is Egypt man, I told ya there is no hope, now I hope you agree with me this time...

Fire 50 million Egyptians... and hope prevails over all.

inshallah, bukra, ma3lish....mish kidda?

Yup.. that sounds about right :)

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