One of the facets of modern life that really pisses me off is the increasing demand by every petty official for “ID”. Of course, having roundly defeated the idea when it was last mooted by the Labour government, we don’t have national identity documents in this country. That, however, doesn’t stop the demand for “ID” Even though, er, we don’t have “ID”. So they ask for passports, driving licences, et al. These are not identity documents and do not prove that the holder is who they say they are, but still, the mindless and petty official will be appeased if one is waved in front of them.
So it is with collecting a parcel from the local delivery office. I have the Post Office P739 left at the house. That should be enough. Yes, really. After all, the likelihood of anyone going to any length to get hold of this document and then go through the hassle of trying to park within reasonable walking distance of the Post Office and putting up with the interminable queue once there is so negligible, it isn’t worth consideration.
But, no, when you get there, they will demand “ID”. That is, a passport (not an identity document, but a travel document) a Post Office employee pass (great if you are a postie, I guess), other employers’ identity cards, driving licence (not an identity document, but a licence to drive – different thing entirely) and so on. Not one of the documents they demand is, actually, an identity document.
Being a little cussed, I present my instructor licence. It has my name and my photograph. But, no, it is not an identity document any more than are any of the other documents they ask for. Recently, this has been accepted without question. Not today.
“I can’t accept that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“It says on it – it’s issued by the DVSA and is my licence.”
“No. Can’t accept it.” Yet he will accept other equally non identity documents. “Have you got a bank card?”
Yes, I have and I show it to him (I’m going to have to if I want my parcel). A bank card is not an identity document. Not even close. It does not prove who I am. But we’ve gone through the pointless charade and he is satisfied. It is a charade that irritates me more and more every time I go through it. There was a time when this kind of mindless, petty bureaucracy was confined to Johnnie foreigner and we endured it when travelling abroad, but when at home could go about our business without providing papers every time we wanted to conduct a minor transaction, such as picking up a parcel or booking into a hotel.
So, yeah, the bastards won after all.
Officialdom wants us to get used to providing identity documents, so next time they try and push ID cards, we may accept them. I will not carry identity documents. I use my bus pass if possible, and argue with them if they do not like it. The more that I can cause officialdom trouble, the more I like it.
Next time ask for a mirror and then say “Yes that’s me”.
Its not this though, although I am tempted one day to whip my dick out, jizz all over the counter and tell the little popinjay to test that against the DNA database.
If I get on a train or a bus I’m not a passenger, I’m a “customer”. In a hotel I’m not a guest, I’m a “customer”. Even in a police station I’m a “customer”. And of course, being a “customer” there are always notices telling me that anything other than slavish obedience will not be tolerated. Can’t be too many of these though in case they obscure the views for the cameras placed there for my safety and convenience.
Fuck me, you’d think I was actually asking them to provide a service.
Last year I went through this farce. Told the disinterested girl who eventually came to the sorting office window I do not possess any of the documents on her list but I do have a birth certificate though that cannot be used for ID purposes and my father’s death certificate.
To my amazement she glanced at the death certificate and said that’ll do and gave me the parcel…
I suspect the people at the sharp end of these organisations don’t take it all that seriously. Just another hoop to jump through on account of some bright idea by a ‘thrusting young executive’ higher up the food chain.
They clamped down on it at our local sorting office late last year. There are two chaps who work there, one I went to school with and one jobsworth. I had a right barney with the jobsworth when he first insisted on ID because I didn’t even have my wallet on me, so had to go home.
Now he calls me ‘mate’ which I find equally annoying.
A tool hire shop I tried to deal with wanted two “identity” documents presented, one of which HAD to be a utility bill. In vain I pointed out that nobody has “utility bills” any more – unless you’re in an old folks’ home everything is done on line.
They wouldn’t give way, it was “the procedure”. Impasse.
Fortunately there are other tool hire shops in town, some of them not staffed by tools. We’re not so lucky with the government of course.
I had the same problem with the insistence that I provide a non-existent “utility bill”. Almost all of my bills are dealt with on-line and print-outs from my computer are not acceptable.
What to do?
The production of a debit card appeased the jobsworth!
I don’t drive so have no driving licence, I don’t go abroad so when my passport ran out last month I refuse to renew I can’t afford to anyway and I don’t see the point in paying all that money for something I don’t actually need everyday, unlike food, light and a roof over my head. So because I don’t own any of these documents, an because we don’t have “household bills” as such and any we do have are in “himselfs” name I apparently can’t vote, because I can’t provide the relevant paperwork to prove I am who I say I am. I won’t go into a lengthy explanation as to how this came about because it’s tedious and ridiculous, and hangs around my recent change of surname name. But apparently ones birth certificate is not proof enough. When we went to rent our house we had to provide ID I had to present them with my passport from when I was 12 years old, it was the proper old blue one and was taken all around the office for everyone to see amid much hilarity. I hate modern life with a passion, apparently these days if you use tea leaves and warm your pot you are senile and need to be entered into an old folks home.