Process

Yesterday I had the great joy of physically going to the New Orleans Sewerage (isn’t this “sewage” in every other part of this country??) and Water Board to pay my deposit.

I had applied by phone and initiated service, but I was required to pay a $75 deposit for the service as well as present identification and turn in my signed application while I was there. I thought this would be a relatively simple and quick process. I would walk in and speak to a lady who would point me to the right person to take my money and hand over the piece of paper. Sounds fairly simple, doesn’t it? Well, here’s how it went:

I walked in and there was the expected lady, “the receptionist”, just sitting there studying the molecules. I walked up to her fairly confidently and told her I needed to pay my deposit for water/sewer/trash service and turn in my signed application. She told me “you’ll have to go to that window” (a brief moment of looking up and evaluating my self presentation, which I’m sure failed her “is this person fashionably acceptable” test). She gestured vaguely to a line of about 6 windows each with their own very clearly defined (think movie theater) lanes, none of which was marked in any way shape or form. There was also a lady at a desk who was whispering quietly into her phone on another side of the square but otherwise undivided room. I took stock of the lines and looked back at her for some assistance but she was unconcerned with my confusion and had obviously done her duty. Social gestures here were apparently lost on her.

Following her clear instructions, I decided to head over and walk up to each window one by one in order until they told me I was in the right place, or had me arrested for loitering. I asked and they sent me down the line until I was on window 5, which was where I was supposed to be. The lady asked if I had filled out an application. There was a brief period here where I was shuffling through the pile of papers the water board had sent me in the mail, with her saying “the application. the APPLICATION. The APPLICATION. THE APPLICATION! THE APPLICATION!” (My pile consisted of 3 papers, so this meant that for each piece of paper she was saying “the application” twice as I frantically scanned it to evaluate whether it qualified as "application"). I finally sifted out a paper which she thought fit the bill for what she wanted. I pulled out my pile of cards, to which she responded “You ain’t planning to do nuttin’ wit dem cards is ya?”, which I figured translated roughly to “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we only take checks, cash or money order.” I pulled out a checkbook and wrote out the check, happy I could finally do something right in this lady’s book. Once done she stared at me as if I had accidentally transplanted my spleen to my nose, and so I was forced to ask “What?”, to which she responded “You got to go visit de lady over at dat desk.” Bizarre that my keen psychic sense didn’t pick this up.

Once finished with the “lady at the window” obviously I was supposed to go over to the “lady at the desk”. I walked over there and heard that she was still whispering (or really talking quietly) to the person on the other end of the phone. I tried my best at the “approach but not approach” approach, but she was quite clearly oblivious to this social game. I was forced to walk all the way up to the desk feeling really rude, but she quickly put me at east when she turned around and bored a hole through the bridge of my nose with her glare. Not sure exactly what I should do, I stood there looking like a complete moron while I was trying to come up with the right plan of action. She finally decided it might be helpful if she told me something, so she said “You got a number?” I cleverly responded “Uhh…” She said “Do you HAVE a NUMBER”, because apparently speaking more loudly was going to transcend the omniscient <-> incompetent barrier. She told me that I had to get a number from the receptionist before I could see her. I took stock of the sea of empty seats and her personal conversation and headed over to the sunshiny receptionist.

I got a number.

I returned and took my seat. While I sat, I read the signs around the office. “Please let us know how we’re doing”. “We constantly strive to provide a friendly and efficient taxpayer experience.”

I waited patiently for the "lady at the desk" to stop relaying her passionate experience to a friend on the phone.

After about 5 minutes she turned around and called loudly out to the empty room: “NUMBER 21!”
Apparently after our previous encounter she was still under the impression that my stupidity could only be penetrated by volume. Either that or the NOLA Water and Sewerage Board is really a clever muggle front for a magical office of some sort, and in reality I was surrounded by people I could not see who were generating enough noise to justify bellowing such as this.

I stepped up to the desk and presented my signed application. She entered something into the computer to reflect that it had been submitted. I was done. The “lady behind the desk” spent fewer than 6 seconds with me. You’ll note that I don’t mention anywhere here where I presented my identification or conducted any other activities that might require my actual presence in this office.

Do we REALLY need three separate ladies with attitudes for this process in an otherwise frighteningly vacant office? Couldn’t we narrow it down to 1, or at the very least, 2?