The tax office had my date of birth wrong. They thought I was six months younger than I am, which for some reason meant I had to come all the way into one of their vastly scattered outlets to correct this mistake if they were to process my tax return. I couldn't do it over the phone because that would be too easy: it wouldn't be a proper test of my ability to handle a disorganised bureaucracy without losing my shit. To be honest, I almost did when I couldn't change the "September" in my details to "March" without leaving my house. I felt like screaming at the human/Japanese Tax-bot I was having this frustrating conversation with, but instead I saved it for the five minute intervals during which I was on hold. And when after an eternity of waiting, he told me to make an appointment at one of their shopfronts, I literally ate my phone in disgust.
I was expecting something like that scene from the Matrix where Keanu Reeves gets interrogated by government agents and they put some kind of robot insect in his stomach and his mouth closes up for some reason. Instead it was just a long queue of immigrants waiting to get yelled at because they'd filled out their tax file number application incorrectly. Then there'd be a long argument in Vietnamese or Indonesian. Misunderstandings would ensue. Guns would be drawn etc.
For me, all that was needed was my passport so that they could correct my date of birth. But I wouldn't be surprised if they made another mistake and deleted my entire identity. If that happens I'm taking up a life of crime.
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