Not My Fault
Arrived at the New Dehli Hotel early in the afternoon.
I had a spare part for the bus to be collected from the airport. It was being flown in from London.
As I walk to the front to have the doorman hail a taxi he asked where I was going. I told him and then he asked if I was flying out. When I told him it was to collect a spare part for the bus from customs he said it was too late to go. I was curious so I asked him just how far away the airport was. I was going to be fine as it was only about 2.30 pm and the collection section at the airport did not close until 4.30 pm.
Only about 15 minutes later I arrived at the airport and easily found my way to the freight collection building. As I walked towards the counter I could see through a chain mesh fence the very article I had come to get. That doorman at the hotel had no idea.
I stepped up to the counter, produced the necessary paper-work and pointed to the parcel. The person on the other side of the counter agreed with me that this was my package. “Not a problem sir, if you come back tomorrow you can collect it”. That seemed odd to me. “If you hand the said object over I will be on my way”, way too easy. “No sir you will have to come back tomorrow to go to the customs building about 500 metres down the road”. I could walk there and back well before you close. “No sir, not enough time”. These Indians can be slow and lazy so I insisted I set off right away. “No sir, not enough time for paper-work”. Hmmm the doorman at the hotel must be onto something. At the advice of the freight office man I would go back to the hotel and set off early next morning.
I had to avoid the doorman on my way into the hotel but tomorrow was another day.
After breakfast I set off back to the customs building and to my horror was a long line of locals. Surely I can offer some baksheesh and jump to the front. What was wrong with these guys, no one was up for a few extra Rupees. Alright I will have to stay in line.
We all shuffle along until we enter a room where a man stamps and signs the paper-work. Now it is off to collect the freight from the airport. No sir, you now need to go to the second floor room 116. Not a problem and so off I follow the others. We wait for about 20 minutes to have the second man stamp and sign the said piece of paper-work. Now off to the airport. No sir, you must now go to room 72 on the ground floor. Another 20 minutes later that is done but wait, you guessed it room 124 on the second level. Hmm I’m starting to feel the heat of the day and the heat of the Indian system. It is then off to room 68, then 143, then 65, then 206 and then ……………………………………………………………. Etc.
The start time was around 8.00 am and I finally get to go to the freight office at about 11.00 am. I finally arrive at the freight office to collect the spare part. Oh! My god that was too difficult for words. I’ll have the parcel now, thank you. “No sir, I now sign this for you and now you take it back to the office 500 metres down the road”. On hearing this news, was I happy? Was I…………. x%:@f^#.
Back to the custom’s building I am directed to room 167 for a signature and stamp. I approach the young Indian lad and gave him an insight to the way I viewed the Indian system. I can’t remember my exact words but it went something like ……. F#%x* useless $&# !!! * dumb #@!&%(+# what the %*!&#@%$#! ….. with that out of my system the young Indian lad had the audacity to have a quiet laugh. I had to ask what was so bloody funny. “OH! Saab, everyone by the time they get to me are swearing like you”. It is no wonder I replied, but why all this B.S. “OH! Saab, if something should go wrong then not one person is to blame. Even I had to laugh at this.
For anyone interested it only took one more trip back to the freight section to get the part at about 12.30 pm. Bloody doorman, it was all his fault.
Vicar
Locked
