Rant about Birth Certificates
(Conversations here in have been embellished, mostly for my own inability to remember stuff from my time of birth)
I'm FUMING over this fiasco. So when I moved out to the dreaded wild west lands of this noble country we are privileged to live, I traded in the rather nice Ontario Drivers licence for the hideously tacky Alberta one (Imagine turning in the Statue of David for a porcelain Elvis bust, you should get an idea). Followed only by my old solid Red and White (don't need to renew it) Ontario Health Card for a little thin piece of paper card for Alberta. I was quite upset at the fact that I had just paid 70 dollars for something that doesn't fit properly in a wallet and was made of paper. Not to mention monthly fees to maintain my Alberta status for the worst healthcare I'VE ever freaking had.
Because I had moved foolishly out west, I had a need for my birth certificate. I tucked it in my wallet, where in it refuses to fit like any other card, to the bill section edge hanging out with you. After 26 years of "use" wasn't in the best of shape (And by use I mean being in a drawer). So there within the leathery womb of my wallet did this document acquire a minor rip. No big deal right, a 26 yearold piece of paper with a little rip in it. I mean its paper, paper rips, I can't laminate it so surely a rip is bound to happen on these right? Turns out that's not the case, because this rip crosses the last digit of one of the numbers the PEICE OF PAPER they gave me 26 FUCKING YEARS AGO, inturn transforming it into a state where my births validity is compromised. I don't know what assclown invented the CANNOT LAMINATE, Wallet sized (but totally doesn't fit in any card sleeve including trading card, or spot in the wallet besides the bill area) piece of PAPER, but I hate you, and your children, and your children's children. Infact, if I see a baby related to you, I will punch it for I'm pretty sure that baby will grow to be a dick wielding paper.
ANYWAY, baby punching aside. I moved back to the glorious province of Ontario. Eager to shed myself of the Albertan wastes, I go to get a new shiny Ontario plastic Health Card and Drivers Licence. Turns out they won't let me get the Health Card without the valid Ontario Drivers Licence. The Drivers Licence I cannot get without the Ontario Birth Certificate. Ok, hold the phone (that expression doesn't make much sense really)... Listen you douchebags, you have a file you brought up with all my records saying I had that 2 years ago, I was totally here and stuff. I've returned with the cursed yet valid licence from Alberta JUST swap that shit out, honestly. I give you old, you give me new issue solved. Turns out they like to make the process stupid because they can. Which brings me to the over all issue, the Birth Certificate.
So one of the first things I did when I moved back was fill out there stupid ass 7 page document for replacing this decaying tree fiber "card" with another newer hunk of dead tree. So we begin, first we start with some pretty standard steps, things like your current mailing address, phone number, work number etc (I'm going to refer to this later). Then we go onto my name and birthdate, ok this makes sense, its what the documents all about, cool lets do it. Ok so here we go the fun stuff. In their quest one can assume to find the info they ask questions such as place I was born, hospital, my birthweight (um... even parents forget this once you hit the 10 years old mark) and that info again for my siblings. I have a half brother(I questioned if that was going to ruin the whole process!). Now we are onto finding out the details of those present at my delivery... things like the Drs name, their current address. I don't know if you realize this, but I'm 26 now... I was kind of like a minute old when that info applied to my life. I can barely remember to put pants on. THEN in this delightful quest seeking plant matter they ask me a million questions about my parents life. Followed by purchasing info, $25 for a new baby, $35 for my replacement. Well that seems abit steep for a piece of paper that got a minor rip in it, but lets bite that bullet. Annnnnd... wait what do you mean I'm not finished. Well now you need a signature of a (drop down list of professions) that have known me for 5 years. You people do realise I'm filling this out at home right, I'm sitting at my computer filling out a big list of shit here for you Scumsuckers and now you need me to contact a teacher or some shit to get their info, My Dad is an ex highschool teacher no problem. Oh wait... he is retired, there for you wont allow me to add an EX teachers signature who has known me for 26 years... nice. So I notice this little box that says (skip step) and I think AWESOME ok, if there's a skip step thing they must not really need this.
Which brings me to now. So as the month drags on, I eventually go into the city to the Register Generals office (who I envision as some cartoon military general with a riding crop standing on a pile of corpses and new born babies) and hope that with my metric FUCKTON of ID that I have I can just hand them my RIPPED PEICE OF PAPER for a new one. This is a document I already have, I'm not fertilizing women 20 times in a row, my logic is TAKE MY DAMN MONEY AND GIMMIE. I sit in the waiting room for 15 minutes, DING my number, great its fuckin' paper time. NOT so fast there moved his bitch ass to alberta guy! BAM 17 page forms to fill out... so I ask the woman, listen I filled out a thing with less info out online, I have all this stuff, cant we just make things simple here. "YOU SHALL NOT" cried the harbinger of doom. "Infact if you fill out all those pages with a pen and make lots of errors we can get that out to you in 9 months." Somewhere in the back of my head a gear grinds to a halt... (9 months... I could make another baby in that time) "However" (a ray of light descended from the fluorescent tubes above) "If you fill out your application online it will take around 15 days to deliver you your new cellulose pulp product that states your existence!" Agast I back up a few steps dumbfounded... "But miss evil foot soldier to the registrar general, I did fill out that document online, you never provided me with anything by mail, phone or otherwise which was part of the first step I filled out. Please I beg of you, I want to LIVE, WONT YOU LET ME LIVE!" The clicking rises from her keyboard like a million confused mice toes in a maze. "Oh yes here we are, you neglected to fill out the guarantor section, you require this information to receive your birth certificate from the postal system carrier vultures. I suggest you resubmit all that information and have a nice day"
Dejected, I return hence forth to my abode. In these solemn walls, I bide my time until last night, the stars were right, I was getting myself an application! SHABAM, filled all that stuff out, looked up a teachers name at a highschool my dad taught at who was still working and WHALA! Submit! Whew, 15 days, its paper time I think, feeling relieved my struggle has come to a close, I can once again be an Ontarian. "Since I'm on here, not playing rockband" (I think, somehow working around that stalled cog in the great machine that drives me) "Lets do our banking shall we". I bring up my statement.... WOHA WOHA WOHA... the statements words jump out like a cougar at a frat party. "July, 04: MGS GOVT BIRTH OTHER CERTTHUNDER BA $35", another cog breaks... its a sunday... I can't call them now, maybe I will be less pissed off in the morning that the sons of bitches charged me a month ago for that thing they say they can't do.
The sun rises its the crack of noon, its time to set things right. I call, greeted by the dreaded electronic maze of verbal commands that doesn't have any options I want. I find a path, and like a choose your own adventure book, I hope the next route doesn't lead to having to listen to those last few pages all over again. "Transferring to an assistant please hold" ... "All our assistance are currently with other customers, please stay on the line and we will get to you maybe sometime perhaps." I wait, 30 minutes of my life disappear like my sex life a year ago. From the phone music from the nutcracker suite (in the middle of summer) plays on eternal loop and I debate tampering with my genome in a grand attempt become a 3headed rat man of asskicking glory. The woman finally picks up, she has the personality that speaks to someone who took calls for a living as being someone who deals with alot of people pissed off at the exact thing that I'm pissed off about, before I even speak her disinterest shoots across the cables and punches me right in the ear. Her dripping apathy oozes from the phone and destroys another brain gear, the machines steam begins to blow bolts from the side. I remain ever calm and collected despite my visions of my three headed giant rat form looming over the government breathing fire and screaming "YOUR PAPER BOUND EXISTANCE WONT SAVE YOU NOW!". 10 minutes of her trying to figure out how to spell my French Canadian last name. "For the 5th freaking time LIMA, ECHO, GOLF, ALPHA, UNIFORM, LIMA, TANGO... what do you mean you still think ECHO is ALPHA! ARG! You honestly work the job you do and don't know this..." She brings up both my applications and I explain that, "yes I did as I was told and recreated one that's completed, can you please refund my money now". "I cannot sir, for you didn't complete the guarantor part of the form, and the process has already started. "Well can you copy and paste the stuff from the new one into the old one and then cancel the new one before the process starts a new." I beg, slowly losing what little sanity I have left. "I can't edit the document, I cannot cancel them either since the process has begun." "Well if you cannot cancel, edit or refund my $35 dollars can you atleast insure that I get two of your documents made of the same material I use to wipe my bottom that says I exist." "Legally your only allowed one copy of a birthcertificate in any given format, you can upgrade your previous one to be a full sized document for 20 dollars more. But you will have to wait for us to contact you in the mail for that one so that we can then get you to provide us with the information required." "The same information in front of you right now on the second application" "Yes" "Um, I'm not big on extortion so let me think on that"
As many of you know, I'm generally an easy going guy. This was one of the few moments of my life that I calming hung up the phone and lost my shit. I was yelling at nothing, fist shaking, dropping on my knees dramatically yelling "NOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo". Long and short of it is that the Government STOLE $35 dollars for me and has put me through much stress. I want to pee on them.
Wall of Text crits you for 9999 damage. You die. Apply for death-certificate now. Yes (No)
I'm FUMING over this fiasco. So when I moved out to the dreaded wild west lands of this noble country we are privileged to live, I traded in the rather nice Ontario Drivers licence for the hideously tacky Alberta one (Imagine turning in the Statue of David for a porcelain Elvis bust, you should get an idea). Followed only by my old solid Red and White (don't need to renew it) Ontario Health Card for a little thin piece of paper card for Alberta. I was quite upset at the fact that I had just paid 70 dollars for something that doesn't fit properly in a wallet and was made of paper. Not to mention monthly fees to maintain my Alberta status for the worst healthcare I'VE ever freaking had.
Because I had moved foolishly out west, I had a need for my birth certificate. I tucked it in my wallet, where in it refuses to fit like any other card, to the bill section edge hanging out with you. After 26 years of "use" wasn't in the best of shape (And by use I mean being in a drawer). So there within the leathery womb of my wallet did this document acquire a minor rip. No big deal right, a 26 yearold piece of paper with a little rip in it. I mean its paper, paper rips, I can't laminate it so surely a rip is bound to happen on these right? Turns out that's not the case, because this rip crosses the last digit of one of the numbers the PEICE OF PAPER they gave me 26 FUCKING YEARS AGO, inturn transforming it into a state where my births validity is compromised. I don't know what assclown invented the CANNOT LAMINATE, Wallet sized (but totally doesn't fit in any card sleeve including trading card, or spot in the wallet besides the bill area) piece of PAPER, but I hate you, and your children, and your children's children. Infact, if I see a baby related to you, I will punch it for I'm pretty sure that baby will grow to be a dick wielding paper.
ANYWAY, baby punching aside. I moved back to the glorious province of Ontario. Eager to shed myself of the Albertan wastes, I go to get a new shiny Ontario plastic Health Card and Drivers Licence. Turns out they won't let me get the Health Card without the valid Ontario Drivers Licence. The Drivers Licence I cannot get without the Ontario Birth Certificate. Ok, hold the phone (that expression doesn't make much sense really)... Listen you douchebags, you have a file you brought up with all my records saying I had that 2 years ago, I was totally here and stuff. I've returned with the cursed yet valid licence from Alberta JUST swap that shit out, honestly. I give you old, you give me new issue solved. Turns out they like to make the process stupid because they can. Which brings me to the over all issue, the Birth Certificate.
So one of the first things I did when I moved back was fill out there stupid ass 7 page document for replacing this decaying tree fiber "card" with another newer hunk of dead tree. So we begin, first we start with some pretty standard steps, things like your current mailing address, phone number, work number etc (I'm going to refer to this later). Then we go onto my name and birthdate, ok this makes sense, its what the documents all about, cool lets do it. Ok so here we go the fun stuff. In their quest one can assume to find the info they ask questions such as place I was born, hospital, my birthweight (um... even parents forget this once you hit the 10 years old mark) and that info again for my siblings. I have a half brother(I questioned if that was going to ruin the whole process!). Now we are onto finding out the details of those present at my delivery... things like the Drs name, their current address. I don't know if you realize this, but I'm 26 now... I was kind of like a minute old when that info applied to my life. I can barely remember to put pants on. THEN in this delightful quest seeking plant matter they ask me a million questions about my parents life. Followed by purchasing info, $25 for a new baby, $35 for my replacement. Well that seems abit steep for a piece of paper that got a minor rip in it, but lets bite that bullet. Annnnnd... wait what do you mean I'm not finished. Well now you need a signature of a (drop down list of professions) that have known me for 5 years. You people do realise I'm filling this out at home right, I'm sitting at my computer filling out a big list of shit here for you Scumsuckers and now you need me to contact a teacher or some shit to get their info, My Dad is an ex highschool teacher no problem. Oh wait... he is retired, there for you wont allow me to add an EX teachers signature who has known me for 26 years... nice. So I notice this little box that says (skip step) and I think AWESOME ok, if there's a skip step thing they must not really need this.
Which brings me to now. So as the month drags on, I eventually go into the city to the Register Generals office (who I envision as some cartoon military general with a riding crop standing on a pile of corpses and new born babies) and hope that with my metric FUCKTON of ID that I have I can just hand them my RIPPED PEICE OF PAPER for a new one. This is a document I already have, I'm not fertilizing women 20 times in a row, my logic is TAKE MY DAMN MONEY AND GIMMIE. I sit in the waiting room for 15 minutes, DING my number, great its fuckin' paper time. NOT so fast there moved his bitch ass to alberta guy! BAM 17 page forms to fill out... so I ask the woman, listen I filled out a thing with less info out online, I have all this stuff, cant we just make things simple here. "YOU SHALL NOT" cried the harbinger of doom. "Infact if you fill out all those pages with a pen and make lots of errors we can get that out to you in 9 months." Somewhere in the back of my head a gear grinds to a halt... (9 months... I could make another baby in that time) "However" (a ray of light descended from the fluorescent tubes above) "If you fill out your application online it will take around 15 days to deliver you your new cellulose pulp product that states your existence!" Agast I back up a few steps dumbfounded... "But miss evil foot soldier to the registrar general, I did fill out that document online, you never provided me with anything by mail, phone or otherwise which was part of the first step I filled out. Please I beg of you, I want to LIVE, WONT YOU LET ME LIVE!" The clicking rises from her keyboard like a million confused mice toes in a maze. "Oh yes here we are, you neglected to fill out the guarantor section, you require this information to receive your birth certificate from the postal system carrier vultures. I suggest you resubmit all that information and have a nice day"
Dejected, I return hence forth to my abode. In these solemn walls, I bide my time until last night, the stars were right, I was getting myself an application! SHABAM, filled all that stuff out, looked up a teachers name at a highschool my dad taught at who was still working and WHALA! Submit! Whew, 15 days, its paper time I think, feeling relieved my struggle has come to a close, I can once again be an Ontarian. "Since I'm on here, not playing rockband" (I think, somehow working around that stalled cog in the great machine that drives me) "Lets do our banking shall we". I bring up my statement.... WOHA WOHA WOHA... the statements words jump out like a cougar at a frat party. "July, 04: MGS GOVT BIRTH OTHER CERTTHUNDER BA $35", another cog breaks... its a sunday... I can't call them now, maybe I will be less pissed off in the morning that the sons of bitches charged me a month ago for that thing they say they can't do.
The sun rises its the crack of noon, its time to set things right. I call, greeted by the dreaded electronic maze of verbal commands that doesn't have any options I want. I find a path, and like a choose your own adventure book, I hope the next route doesn't lead to having to listen to those last few pages all over again. "Transferring to an assistant please hold" ... "All our assistance are currently with other customers, please stay on the line and we will get to you maybe sometime perhaps." I wait, 30 minutes of my life disappear like my sex life a year ago. From the phone music from the nutcracker suite (in the middle of summer) plays on eternal loop and I debate tampering with my genome in a grand attempt become a 3headed rat man of asskicking glory. The woman finally picks up, she has the personality that speaks to someone who took calls for a living as being someone who deals with alot of people pissed off at the exact thing that I'm pissed off about, before I even speak her disinterest shoots across the cables and punches me right in the ear. Her dripping apathy oozes from the phone and destroys another brain gear, the machines steam begins to blow bolts from the side. I remain ever calm and collected despite my visions of my three headed giant rat form looming over the government breathing fire and screaming "YOUR PAPER BOUND EXISTANCE WONT SAVE YOU NOW!". 10 minutes of her trying to figure out how to spell my French Canadian last name. "For the 5th freaking time LIMA, ECHO, GOLF, ALPHA, UNIFORM, LIMA, TANGO... what do you mean you still think ECHO is ALPHA! ARG! You honestly work the job you do and don't know this..." She brings up both my applications and I explain that, "yes I did as I was told and recreated one that's completed, can you please refund my money now". "I cannot sir, for you didn't complete the guarantor part of the form, and the process has already started. "Well can you copy and paste the stuff from the new one into the old one and then cancel the new one before the process starts a new." I beg, slowly losing what little sanity I have left. "I can't edit the document, I cannot cancel them either since the process has begun." "Well if you cannot cancel, edit or refund my $35 dollars can you atleast insure that I get two of your documents made of the same material I use to wipe my bottom that says I exist." "Legally your only allowed one copy of a birthcertificate in any given format, you can upgrade your previous one to be a full sized document for 20 dollars more. But you will have to wait for us to contact you in the mail for that one so that we can then get you to provide us with the information required." "The same information in front of you right now on the second application" "Yes" "Um, I'm not big on extortion so let me think on that"
As many of you know, I'm generally an easy going guy. This was one of the few moments of my life that I calming hung up the phone and lost my shit. I was yelling at nothing, fist shaking, dropping on my knees dramatically yelling "NOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo". Long and short of it is that the Government STOLE $35 dollars for me and has put me through much stress. I want to pee on them.
Wall of Text crits you for 9999 damage. You die. Apply for death-certificate now. Yes (No)