I Visit Third World At Post Office!

It's been a long time since I had to queue to claim benefits. The last time I claimed dole was 1978, and the final time I "signed on" as unemployed (although untitled to dole) was 1988, when I went to the social security office in Lewisham, where I was the only claimant who wasn't Irish, black or tattooed; and yes, there were some who qualified for all three.

I mention this as I realised how long it has been since I experienced the deprivation and soul destruction that is the long wait to have you number called amongst the hoi polloi.

This line of thought was triggered by a visit to the Post Office in Camden Town, where there is some cruel and unnecessary experiment taking place. You cannot queue in this post office, you have to get a ticket. There are four categories of ticket: Business, Special Delivery, Currency Exchange and Counter Services each with its own numbering system.

You take a ticket, and then wait for when your number comes up. And you wait. And wait.

There are seats provided, but they are full of the crazed, the local indolent and the elderly despondent.

I did the calculation: time to process one person times the number of tickets waiting, divided by the counters available. Ten minutes?

But what is this? People with Business tickets are prioritised! If a business ticket appears on the display board, it becomes the next number at the next available counter. Three business tickets means you just went backwards by three places! Then it is realised that the same applies for Currency tickets!

At least in the time now available, I was able to go back out to the high street and buy a) some tea, milk and bananas, b) a book (Seized, by Max Hardberger) and c) a cake.

On returning, my number was fifth in line to be served. I still had to wait ten minutes.

And the piece de resistance?

Twenty minutes plus after first encountering the squalor, I was finally served; albeit efficiently, but only to find the teller offering to sell me car insurance!

Royal Mail staff are being asked to sell car insurance to people who have been held against their will in a conditions that would appal a Mombassan prison guard!

How does that work? Is this what we've come to?

Now had I been offered euthanasia....