Part Two
Part two of the DGII saga.
The Mrs. PJT and I departed to the Capital Thursday am and arrived at the DGII building on Av. Mexico, about a block west of Av. Duarte around 9 am. We went to the first floor.
The one thing I desire to point out upon entering this cavern is you do not know where to go. The lines are long and the signage is bad. You do not want form in the wrong queue. The employees are very disinterested in helping you unless there is something in it for them. It is the buscones that do help; they know the system better than the employee?s. I spot one and he informed us what window would service us. He did this to help and refused any commission.
We got in line with our corrected paperwork. The good news was there were only six people in front of us. The bad news was the computer for that window was broken and it was being changed out for a working one, one hour it takes. We traded war stories with the others in line and heard it takes sometimes 5 days to get plates after papers are processed. It came our turn to face the DGII gauntlet. Mrs. PJT, a former expatriate Dominicana, motions me to go aside because I?m too gringo and begins smooth talking the female clerk who had taken our papers, which included the original metricula. The woman entered information into the database and made a printout of the tax statements. We were instructed to go to another window at the side of the hall with the statements. Which window? We go to the proper window and nobody is there. After a few moments a woman returns and we pass the forms to her. The Mrs. engages sweet-talk with her, we pay out taxes, RD$ 2,245. The Mrs. is now concerned after hearing about the alleged five-day wait for the plate and does some more sweet-talking to the woman outside of my presence. Somehow it works, the woman walks the paperwork to the next station, telling us it will be a two-hour wait for the plates. Note: my wife was the only woman in the hall of hundreds of angry desperate men, whose handle on the situation was to insult the clerks. No wonder it was taking them fives days to get placas. It seems my wife?s approach was a breath of fresh air. I lowered my principles telling her let?s sweeten the pot a little, to use Tony C?s method to gets things moving. She?s says no. She has the situation in control; some sort of woman-to-woman thing happened at the window she tells me. I think she slipped some cash. She denies it.
We then square up to area of the window in the final station to wait for the new metricula and plate. It is a mob scene, there is chaos, and everybody stinks. You would think DGII was giving out free beer at the window to the first 15 appearing at the window in the huddle of 50. There is no clerk at the window, one hour goes by, and then another half hour. The group is really getting angry, shaking the bars at the window, yelling more insults at the employee?s while pushing and shoving at each other. I said to the Mrs. we better leave the area. My wife, a psychiatric nurse, gets up from her seat, defuses the situation by suggesting a group go up to see the director. She leads the way; some follow and then drop away to go back to the window.
We both arrived at the fourth floor outer office of the jefe and we explained to the secretary of the foul happenings down below. We use a white lie and advise her the jefe had informed us the previous Tuesday, if we had any problems obtaining service to see him. Well, being the good secretary she runs interference for the boss. He had probably left a standing order not to be disturbed, needed time to eat his apples. Anyway, the secretary hastened to make a phone call to the first floor and after several repeated attempts she made a connection. She spoke to someone, said the delay is being taken care of, go back downstairs.
We returned to the window area, the crowd was calm; the clerk had returned (?) and was distributing the new placas and metriculas. We heard ours being called, went to the head of the crowd and received the much awaited prize. The clerk smiled. It?s 1:30 pm. Next, some of the onlookers started voicing resentments of how come we got ours so quick. Arghhh! It is time to get out of here before they take their frustrations out on us; we?re on their side of the barrier. Once outside the building, we stop for a cold Coke and I check the metricula information, all is in order. Let?s go to the bookstore then head back East.
The kicker is this past Friday my wife met an old friend in Higuey and during their conversation the metricula story came to pass. The friend said the same thing had happened to him, his registration information was not in the computer. He had gone to the DGII in the city to rectify the oversight. The clerk had refused to help him. He was ?B.S.?, bit his tongue, and walked away. He returned a few days later, saw the same clerk and sweet-talked her this time to make the correction. She did it. He then told all his friends what she did. Next thing you know he says there is a long line of folks to get the metriculas corrected.
We like to feel in retrospect a reason why we were sent to the Capital was because the vehicle?s papers are in Mrs. PJT?s name. We want to believe the Higuey clerk assumed the Mrs. was a foreigner and sent us to S.D., as procedure requires? My wife looks and acts foreign rather than Dominicana. I lean more toward the woman did not care a darn, just wanted to get rid of us, or was waiting for an offer.
The lesson learned and confirmed is the government wants to keep this service or any of its services dealing directly with the public screwed-up. If the officials were to streamline the bureaucracy it would be counterproductive to politics and to the pay-off subculture (corruption) the government workers depend upon to supplement their salary. It is still hard for me to drift away from my own principles of not paying the extra for the services you are allowed. Yes, no doubt it would have been cheaper for us to pay to smooth the way or enlisting the help of somebody we know. Yet, I do not want to depart from my own principles unless it is a true emergency.
Next time we know what to do.
Regards, PJT