John Talbert walked into the Voter Registration Bureau, took a ticket and waited for his number to be called. The bureau was only open for two weeks of the year in his county and was crowded. An hour went by, then another. Occasionally someone would swear, get up and leave.
At last it was Talbert’s turn. He stepped into the office at the rear and presented his passport, driving licence and birth certificate.
‘Certificate of Employment, Self-Employment or Pension?’ said the bored clerk.
‘The government department I worked at was closed down last week, and I’m not retired, so I don’t have one yet.’
‘No certificate, no voter registration.’
‘I’m applying for jobs. Look.’ Talbert showed his file of current applications. ‘Doesn’t that count?’
The clerk didn’t even look up. ‘No certificate, no registration,’ he repeated.
‘So how can I register? The Constitution …’
‘The Constitution has nothing to do with it. No certificate …’
‘I know — no registration,’ said Talbert. As he walked out he heard the clerk mutter an obscenity about ‘deadbeats’ to his colleagues. The next day he began applying online for more jobs, but now they all wanted a Voter Registration Certificate number to prove legal citizenship or the application would be rejected.
That afternoon he tried contacting his congressman’s office to discuss his case, filled in a long online form and got an automated response:
Dear Mr Talbert,
Our records show that you do not hold a Certificate of Employment or a Voter Registration Certificate, nor are you in receipt of a pension, therefore Congressman Youngblood is unable to help you. This is to allow him to concentrate his time and efforts on genuine citizens.
Talbert looked at the reply for a long time, then drove to the edge of town. He had seen a sign there saying, ‘Fruit Pickers Wanted.’ He was accepted with no awkward questions or requests for paperwork, although they laughed when he asked for a Certificate of Employment.
As he drove home he wondered how long his savings would last, eked out by the few dollars an hour he could earn there. Probably not until retirement, he decided, always assuming he’d get a pension.
The next day he reported for work at 7.0 a.m. as instructed and wasn’t surprised to see several familiar faces from his old department. They greeted each other. ‘No talking!’ yelled the field boss. ‘Any more gabbing and you lose an hour’s pay.’
Talbert, his old colleagues and the others set to work. Only twelve hours to the end of the shift. He wondered if, at nearly sixty-three, he would make it.
At last it was Talbert’s turn. He stepped into the office at the rear and presented his passport, driving licence and birth certificate.
‘Certificate of Employment, Self-Employment or Pension?’ said the bored clerk.
‘The government department I worked at was closed down last week, and I’m not retired, so I don’t have one yet.’
‘No certificate, no voter registration.’
‘I’m applying for jobs. Look.’ Talbert showed his file of current applications. ‘Doesn’t that count?’
The clerk didn’t even look up. ‘No certificate, no registration,’ he repeated.
‘So how can I register? The Constitution …’
‘The Constitution has nothing to do with it. No certificate …’
‘I know — no registration,’ said Talbert. As he walked out he heard the clerk mutter an obscenity about ‘deadbeats’ to his colleagues. The next day he began applying online for more jobs, but now they all wanted a Voter Registration Certificate number to prove legal citizenship or the application would be rejected.
That afternoon he tried contacting his congressman’s office to discuss his case, filled in a long online form and got an automated response:
Dear Mr Talbert,
Our records show that you do not hold a Certificate of Employment or a Voter Registration Certificate, nor are you in receipt of a pension, therefore Congressman Youngblood is unable to help you. This is to allow him to concentrate his time and efforts on genuine citizens.
Talbert looked at the reply for a long time, then drove to the edge of town. He had seen a sign there saying, ‘Fruit Pickers Wanted.’ He was accepted with no awkward questions or requests for paperwork, although they laughed when he asked for a Certificate of Employment.
As he drove home he wondered how long his savings would last, eked out by the few dollars an hour he could earn there. Probably not until retirement, he decided, always assuming he’d get a pension.
The next day he reported for work at 7.0 a.m. as instructed and wasn’t surprised to see several familiar faces from his old department. They greeted each other. ‘No talking!’ yelled the field boss. ‘Any more gabbing and you lose an hour’s pay.’
Talbert, his old colleagues and the others set to work. Only twelve hours to the end of the shift. He wondered if, at nearly sixty-three, he would make it.
