Slow Ass Revenue Sucker

I had to go to SARS today to register as a taxpayer.

I figured 11.30 was a good time to make my way to the Randburg office as I'd be skipping the lunchtime queues. Well I'd hate to see what lunch time is like there at that place.

The metal detector beeped as I stepped through, but after being met with a blank gaze from the security guards I made my way to the back of the queue. I even went back to check with the guard that this was the right queue for ME. "Yes, wait in the line". There were about thirty people in front of me slowly edging towards the reception desk like a gentle wave of grumpiness. At least they could have had some music to lighten the deathly mood, where everyone looks around at everyone else secretly wondering which idiots had forgotten one of their vital documents and would be told to go home when they reached the front.

ID copy check, bank statements check, payslip check, completed forms check.

It is at this point that I have to wonder about the logic of the South African Revenue Service.

Why is there only one man standing behind that counter!! Clearly the saying 'many hands make light work' is not discussed at their staff meetings.

And then there's the double queuing problem - some people doing filing or whatever get to the desk only to be given a ticket and told to wait in line in another one deeper inside the tax guzzling beast. Sucks to be you!

So I finally got to the front, expecting to be told I've forgotten this or that (which regularly happens on my bank visits). I'm greeted by a cheerful smile, called by my name (great personal touch) and sent merrily along my way. 

Maybe its not such a Slow Ass Revenue Sucker after all. Well we'll wait and see when I actually get my tax number. 

Peacock pride

The Peacock 


What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye. 

William Butler Yeats 

Pic: me

Awkward elevator moments

 Everyone who has ever lived in a complex has endured one of those awkward elevator moments...you know when you press the button for ground and look forward to a minute or two of vacuumed time and space - with no phones beeping, or computers whirring and in my case, not even classical elevator music to distract me from my thoughts.

Last night I had a particularly awkward experience as I travelled down the lift after the World Cup match between Germany and England (where those pommies got absolutely thumped - ha! regardless of that bad ref decision with the disallowed goal Paul Ince!).

I entered the usually quiet confines of the elevator with a silver-haired lady (complex note 1: I basically live in an old age home judging by the average of my co-inhabitants > 60 plus). Turns out she's the daughter of my neighbour so he really must be ancient (definitely alive in the first and second World Wars I swear!).

So we both push the G button, and I pray that this elevator accelerates down the five floors.

The World Cup is a conversation starter at the the best of times in this country, and if you know just a little bit about the teams (no football knowledge necessarily required) and own a shirt for Football Friday, things don't generally go wrong. You can always just blame the ref.

Granny: "So, did you watch the soccer?"

Me: "Yes, it was a hectic game hey"

And that would have been sufficient. The last minute of our journey could now be enjoyed in pleasant silence after the ice had been broken. But I seem to attract awkward situations wherever I go.

Me: "So, which team were you supporting?"

Granny: Um...England...well I have their flag on my car but my father is devastated"

Now that seems like a fairly ok neutral response right?

Complex fact 2: Everyone in my complex is Jewish. 

Joburg way up high

Gold Reef City, Johannesburg 27 June 2010
From my vantage point at the top of the ferris wheel, the city spreads out below me like a tapestry. The red, green, brown and grey bumps of buildings, houses and trees stretches into the horizon as far as I can see. East, West, Joburg is best. 


Moving to the big city of Johannesburg at the beginning of this year was a career-driven decision as I wanted to make my mark on the South African media landscape. But I never really thought I'd find my place in this fast-paced, 'crime-infested' concrete jungle.


However, I've discovered that the city offers a kaleidoscope of people, places and new experiences and I am loving being able to explore all that it has to offer! And about all that concrete? Turns out Joburg is reputed to be the world's largest urban forest!