Jimmy's Corner

The Egyptian TV has been broadcasting the annual conference for the National Democratic Party, that is supposed to be an internal conference, for almost the whole day. Everybody I know just switched the channel when the "show" started. And actually, the fact that the Egyptian TV, which is not an NPD property, shows the NDP's annual conference and gives it a priority for coverage made me think and ask the following questions:

1. Why doesn't the Egyptian TV cover other parties' conferences?
2. Does the NDP pay the Egyptian TV to have this long time of coverage, or vise versa?
3. Is it the government that covers the expenses of the conference of the NDP finance dept.?
4. Who pays for the gas the president's car consumes when he is heading for the conference of his party?
5. Who pays for the gays the president consumes in general?
6. Did Gamal Mubarak spend the obligatory military service?
7. How can Ahmed Ezz be apparently fought by the government while he is one of the leaders in the NDP?

If anyone can help me answer these questions, feel free to put down your answers.

CORRECTION:
I have been making so many mistypings lately... I have to correct the following:

Question 3: Is it the government that covers the expenses of the conference OR the NDP finance dept?
Question 5: Who pays for the GAS (not gays) the president consumes in general? (Although I find no difference actually, wink Alaa ;) )

Today at work, my canadian colleague, Kent, almost jumped from his seat in surprise while reading a magazine. I did not know what was wrong. In a second, I found him handing me the magazine and said: "Jimmy, can you understand what the following sentence means:

A highly competitive remuneration will be commensurate with qualifications and experience."

My reply was "What the fuck... what does that mean?"
We took the magazine and went to our manager, Adam, who is American. Adam read the sentence, and being very practical nice guy, he opened Google and searched for the meaning of remuneration. Finally we could guess what the sentence mean:

A highly competitive salary that matches qualifications and experience will be offered.

The very comic part is, it is a job ad by an Egyptian company that needs EGYPTIAN finance manager for a vacant position (I thought they wanted a linguist before I continue reading the ad). Two native English speakers, who are very lingually very strong could not comprehend the meaning of the sentence that is actually directed to Egyptians.

Egyptian companies apply the rule: "Use complicated words, get more respect" and no applicants.

While I was surfing through the news and Egyptian websites, I found this very couragous intiative that actually declares what most of the Egyptians share about Gamal Mubarak. If you are pro-democracy and against the inheritance of power by Gamal Mubarak, please read and sign the following intiative.

"We, the undersigned, declare our opposition to power inheritance and Gamal Mubarak's succession to his father. Besides Gamal's lack of qualifications, we strongly believe that power inheritance is against freedom, democracy, and equal opportunity among the Egyptian citizens... (continue)"

I have signed there myself, and it is open for people all over the world. And fellow Egyptians, try for once to make your voice be heard.

I have received so much feedback from my friends who read the last post; in addition to Annonymous's and Badr's comments. In a conversation one of my friends asked me to stop comparing Egypt to European countries because there is a major difference between the European capabilities and the Egyptian capabilities.

Well, here I compare Egypt to African countries which are actually so poor that we sympathize with them.

Here we go:



Ten African countries have a better income per capita than Egypt, some of them do not have one third of our natural resources.

Luxomburg has the highest income per capita in the world with $55,400. And no comment.

AT THE SAME TIME

Ironically, we are the third highest country in Africa receiving international aids: we recieve 1.2 billion dollars a year. Take a look:


I think comparing Egypt to African countries hurts more than comparing it to European countries.

References:
aneca.com

Yes, I put the flag on my blog and in my room and still I hate Egypt. The flag in here and the flag in my room are the flags of a country that I love but does not exist. A flag of a country that was once great, once powerful, civilized and respectable is the flag on this blog. Yet, Egypt, the place where I live and belong is just, sorry to say, another big bag of shit, stupidity, backwardness, ignorance, indifference and above all hypocrisy.

I know some of you are pretty well surprised right now, but so fucken what?? This is what I believe: Egypt that I love is Egypt in my dreams. Well, do you want to know why I am saying this?? Here you go...

The story starts on Wednesday September 6th:

A friend: I have been in college this morning and they told us that our IDs
(national IDs) do not help if we want to apply for the post-graduate studies.
Me: Why??? Is it the national ID of Libya that works or what?
A friend: Lool No, in our IDs it says we are students, and in order to join the post
graduate diploma we need to have in our IDs the word "BA in English
Literature"... Something that proves that we are graduates.
Me: Well, don't we provide documents that prove that we are graduates?? Why the hell do we need to change our IDs in order to prove that we are graduates as long as we have the official documents that prove that we are graduates; and my ass, we are applying for a post-graduate diploma in the same university where we had our degree. Are they kidding!!!
A friend: I am angry like you, but what shall we do... We have to follow the rules.

In fact the deadline for applications is September 15th. Actually in the Land of Fucken Wonders aka Egypt, you have to fuck yourself to change your information in your national ID, and then two weeks after you fuck yourself you receive your new ID. If you are in a hurry, you fuck yourself twice, and receive the ID after 3 days. This means I have to fuck myself twice to get my ID quickly and finish my application before the deadline.

The Question now is, how can I fuck myself??
Egypt applies the rule: "Size does not matter". The government helps you fuck yourself without even having your zip down.

Thursday September 7th, 2006:
I wake up early gather all the documents that may be needed in order to finish the ID thing and get it ready by Sunday so that I finish my application. I know that Egyptian official are xerox maniacs so I xerox all the documents thrice before I go to the Civil Status Association in Cairo to fuck myself... sorry, finish my ID.

When I arrive there, I find no one to ask about the procedures. Then I find a security guy that is working in there and ask him:

Me: Good morning, I need to change some information in my ID and...
SG: (interrupting) Go to the first floor buy an application and sdfisoidfsoi saiodffpasidf asfphasdiufas.
Me: Pardon, I missed the last part!
SG: (with a disgusted look) and hand it.
Me: Where?

Actually he did not answer me because he left before I finish my question. I go downstairs to buy the application, and here what happens with the application seller (who is a government official):

Me: Hello, an ID application please.
AS: Normal or Quick?
Me: Umm, quick!
AS: 75 EGP (Egyptian Pounds)
Me: WHAT?
AS: 75 EGP is the price of the application.
Me: Here you are... (he hands me the application)... one last question...
AS: Yes...
Me: May I ask you how much do you earn a month...
AS: A price of two applications (and laughed).

I leave to start fucking myself. I enter three offices, and the official in every office says the word (The office next door), even before I tell him what I need to do. The last office the guy changes the rule "Go downstairs to the left". I go downstairs to the left. A guy tells me "Have a seat". Stupidly, I wonder "huh, finally arrived". All of a sudden a security guy comes in and shouts "We do not receive applications here, go upstairs. I said go upstairs". Everybody in the room leaves to go upstairs, and so do I.

Upstairs, in the third office, a guy shouts "stay out, I said stay outttt". I ask one of the guys: "where does this sound come from", he answers "the room where they receive the applications" :S. An hour passes and still I have my application and documents in my hands, waiting with a good number of people to have my application received and go home.

Then, out of no where, comes the security guy who was too disgusted to tell me where to buy an application, and takes our applications and mutters "Wait till your names are called".

Two hours and a half pass and I am still waiting for my name to be called. Finally my name is called. My joy overcomes all the anger I am feeling as I go into the office. The same guy who told me to go down to hand my application is the one that is revising my application now (the world is a small village now huh).

Him: So what do you want?
Me: To change the information in my ID from "Student" to "Graduate".
Him: Do you have your graduation documents?
Me: Sure, here you are...
Him: What is this?
Me: My graduation document.
Him: It has a scratch, on ur name.
Me: Pardon!!!!
Him: A scratch on ur name, it doesn't show whether you are ***** or another name.
Me: Well, if it does not show whether my name is *****, how could you know my name. Plus I see no scratches.
Him: Sorry, it doesn't work, go back to your university, tell them to put a seal on the scratch and re-write the name and then seal the name once more.
Me: (Starting to boil) Well, today is Thursday, Friday and Saturday is a weekend. So you are asking me to wait till Sunday to put a seal on the I-wish-it-were-there scratch and come back to repeat the same process.
Him: It is not my problem that you came in the last day in the week.
Me: It is not my problem that you take ages to revise information and make me wait for 3 hours and half for nothing.
Him: Sorry, I said what I got. (NEXT).

I go back home. I am that close to miss the deadline for the Post-graduate applications. The fucken motherfucken bustard has delayed me 3 fucken days. Well, patience... I will finish it on Sunday (REMEMBER THAT WAS A QUICK APPLICATION).

Sunday September 10th, 2006:

I wake up in the morning. Go to my university, meet the Student Affairs official:

Me: Good morning, can u please rewrite my name here and put a seal on it because
there is a scratch hiding the name!
She: Umm, is there a scratch.
Me: I don't know.
She: (puts on her glasses) Umm I see no scratches. Even with the glasses.
Me: Same here although I have a better eye-sight.
She: I don't understand.
Me: Please, just do it.
She: Okay, it gonna look ugly by the way.
Me: Thank God I am not going to marry with this piece of paper.

5 minutes and I am done.

I go back to the CSA, I have my application ready, my documents ready and re-sealed, my name re-written, photocopies of everything. It is all about handing the application now. As I arrive, I see hundreds of people standing everywhere. I reach the door, a security guy stops me: "Can I help you?". I answer "I need to hand my application to an official to have my ID ready". He replies "Okay, stand in the queue". I walk a long way to reach the end of the queue to have my place. An hour passes an no one enters, no one comes to take the applications and no one even gives a fuck.

I leave the queue and go through the backdoor. TO MY SURPRISE, THEY RECEIVED APPLICATIONS 10 MINS AGO ON THE BACKDOOR.

I try to hand my applicaiton, but again the same guy that once shouted "Go upstairs", shouts at me again and says "GO WAIT IN THE SPACE TO THE RIGHT". I take it easy and go the space to the right. I meet one of my friends there, she has just handed her application. Actually, the place is a practical shit-shed: no floor: sand on the ground; no seats, walls unfinished and a very bad smell that you can have if you leave ur toilet unflushed for a week.

Then the same process goes, go upstairs, then downstairs, up, then down, up then down. (Didn't I say you gonna fuck yourself). Finally, a security guy calls "Those who have quick applications follow me". A population follows him and I am one.

Then I find out that they took us again to the door, made us stand in a queue. As if we are in the army, or herds of sheep that they lead. We stay there for two hours. And the same story repeats itself. NO FUCKEN MOTHERFUCKER RECEIVES ANY FUCKEN APPLICATION.

Finally, my patience is over. And I leave. (WITHOUT HANDING THE APPLICATION, WHICH IS A QUICK ONE).

I leave it all because a friend bought me a ticket for a bus because I have to finish some errands in another city the next day. The bus is supposed to leave at 7:00. I go home, through the documents on my desk, have some clothes with me, then stop a taxi and go the bus-stop. In there I find a surprise waiting "No buses are leaving at 7:00".

I take out the ticket and show it to the guy who says "Well, maybe it is 7:00 am"
I answer "It has no am or pm next to the 7:00 on the ticket, plus it was booked as a 7:00 pm".
He replies: "I don't know, go to the main office in the square there, and ask manager".
I go to across the square, and find the manager praying. I wait till he finishes, discuess the matter with him and he says "I don't know".

I reply "What do you mean?"
He answers "I will call the general manager"
I reply "Is it my fault that you booked the wrong ticket, we tell the guy we need a bus late afternoon, so he books us a ticket for a bus that leaves on 7 am. And the ticket does not even have a am or pm next to the hour in it. Are you kidding?"
He answers "I don't know, I will call my general manager"
He goes and calls the general manager and then comes soooooooooo nicely saying "Okay, buy a new ticket (with your own money) and go, when you come file this ticket in a document and hand it to our HQ"

Here I open fire and the guy takes all the fucken anger that I have been subpressing the whole day long. Practically, my voice was heard all over the square, and I was so fucken ready to break the neck of any motherfucker that would think of touching me. I finish it all ripping the ticket a hundred piece and throwing it in the face of the manager saying "It is prayer time, go stand before God and pray and say 'I am a motherfucken fucktard, a son of a bitch who steals peoples money and go to prayers'. And I storm out of the motherfucken company's office.

Now the summary:

1. I am about to miss the deadline for the post-graduate applications for a stupid rule, which means wasting a year in my life.
2. I miss an important errand out of Cairo because a hypocrite motherfucker.
3. Tomorrow I go again to finish my fucken quick application.

AND TOMORROW I SWEAR I WILL BREAK THE RULES.

And if this is Egypt, where you get humiliated, disrespected, used and robbed. Then I am NO EGYPTIAN.