Public Service: The Unintended Comedy of Bureaucratic Life
When I first embarked on my professional journey as an intern at a government office, I had no idea I was stepping into a sitcom waiting to be written. Sure, I gained countless friends and some unforgettable memories, but what I didn’t expect was to be living out episodes of the most bizarre office drama every day.
I was working in an international department—diplomats, specialists, the whole shebang. However, our office was under-staffed. How under-staffed, you ask? Well, it was just me—just one intern. Picture it: a sprawling government building, one overwhelmed intern, and an office running at the speed of bureaucracy. It was clear that a second intern was desperately needed. Enter Marcelo.
Marcelo, a sweet-hearted guy from Pará, was not just the office's new intern; he quickly became my co-conspirator in navigating the labyrinth of governmental nonsense. The first day he walked in, I showed him the ropes, teaching him everything I could to help ease my burden of eternal paperwork.
But what made Marcelo stand out wasn’t just his sunny disposition. It was his legendary way of greeting each day:
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"Good morning, Marcelo! How’s it going?"
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"Good morning… but, honestly, not too well," he’d reply, his face contorted into a mix of exhaustion and existential despair.
I'd ask what happened, and every time, without fail, the story was always the same: "I didn’t sleep last night. Insomnia... I’m just so tired!" His tiredness became my problem too. Marcelo would drag himself into the office, sighing, only to hand over his most recent misadventure in tragicomic detail.
By 10 AM, he’d ask, "Do you want an energy drink? I’m gonna grab one so I can stay awake." And he wasn’t kidding. Marcelo’s daily energy drink routine was nothing short of heroic. He’d return from the snack bar carrying enough snacks to feed a small army, plus a two-liter bottle of energy drink, which he would down like it was water. Then, in a completely serious tone, he’d ask, "Do you think the reason I can’t sleep at night is because of this?"
Marcelo, my friend, we both knew the answer to that.
One fateful day, I greeted him as usual:
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"Good morning, Marcelo! How’s it going?"
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"Not great, actually," he said, with the same defeated look on his face.
"What happened this time?" I asked, genuinely curious about his new catastrophe.
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"Well, on my way to catch the bus this morning, I stepped in dog poop!" Marcelo confessed, as if he were admitting to a personal failure of the highest order. "But the worst part was that when I got on the bus, I stepped on a woman’s white pants!"
I couldn’t contain myself. I burst out laughing. Marcelo didn’t quite understand why this was hilarious, but to me, it was gold. But the comedy didn’t end there. No, it never ends with Marcelo.
Later that day, Dr. Márcio, one of our colleagues with a brilliant sense of humor, asked Marcelo how he was doing. Marcelo, in his usual defeated way, replied:
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"Not great, actually, Dr. Márcio. I stepped in dog poop and ruined my shoes."
Dr. Márcio, ever the prankster, winked at me and said, "Ah, so that’s why there’s a strange smell wafting through the office!" And, with a sly grin, he added, "Watch out, Marcelo, our boss might call you in for a dictation later!"
You see, our boss had this delightful habit of making us do dictations instead of typing. It wasn’t out of love for language; he was just too busy to deal with the tediousness of writing himself.
Marcelo panicked. I nearly died of laughter. Marcelo ran off to the breakroom, frantically searching for alcohol to clean his shoes. Hours later, he was still scrubbing away, convinced the smell of dog poop was following him around the office like some kind of olfactory ghost.
Now, in the hierarchy of office dictations, I was more experienced than Marcelo. As the senior intern, I was often called in for the dictations. But that day, fate had a different plan. Our boss was urgently looking for someone to help with another dictation, so I suggested that Marcelo could step in.
When I delivered the news to Marcelo, he nearly lost it. "Lend me your shoes!" he begged, but I couldn’t. I had my own dictation to worry about. And so, in a mad, frantic rush, we made a plan to swap shoes and get Marcelo ready for his big moment.
After much shoe-revolving, panic, and a very bizarre game of "who can wear the cleanest shoes," we both managed to survive another workday. And thus, the comedy of bureaucratic life continued, one laughable disaster at a time.
In the end, I learned that the most valuable lesson of working in public service isn’t about diplomacy or international relations—it’s about surviving the chaos with a sense of humor.
And for Marcelo, well, he eventually figured out that energy drinks, insomnia, and dog poop aren’t the best combination for a successful day in the office.