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Lenox Lizwi Mhlanga

I have to share this with you. For all we know, you have experienced it to but you don’t have a column like me. We all know that our power utility, yes that one, has improved quite significantly since the introduction of prepaid meters.

It has had its fair share of bashing in the local media much of it deserved of course. We can always fall on the adage that there is no smoke without fire. The problem is with the firemen, who watch silently as it rages.

But I feel that they sometimes bring it on themselves, the state of their bill payment halls being a case in point. What I will detail below is a true story from the archives. Names have been excluded to protect the innocent (and the inconvenienced.)

Day One

Yours truly, being a conscientious citizen, decides to pay my electricity bill, even though I last received a bill in 19-gocha nhembe (when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.) I calmly queue in front of the enquiries desk with a 200-page novel, well prepared for the long wait.

Thirty minutes later (this queue was short) the kind gentleman behind the desk tells me that I have not been billed. So could I be a nice consumer and pay a million dollars (old currency) which he tells me is a guesstimate.

Looking at the long and winding payments queue, I decide to write a cheque as I normally do under such circumstances. Lo and behold I find the cheque box sealed. The security guard standing nearby politely advises that I join the queue and pay cash. Cheques are not being accepted because they might ‘bounce’ because of the currency revaluation.

Seeing the prospect of spending the rest of my short life in the payments queue, I give up and head for work.

Day Two

I am pleasantly surprised by the short queue at the enquiries desk. There are just two of us there. This is going to be nice and quick, I sing to myself. The chap at the counter informs me that there is a ‘problem’ with my electricity account.

“Go round and join the Credit Control queue labelled BYO East,” he advises. I then discover why the enquiries queue is so short. It has reformed at Credit Control. For those of you who did not know, the Credit Control queue is composed mainly of sheepish looking people whose supplies have been disconnected for non-payment. The difference is that I am yet to be disconnected, which is why I want to find out how much I owe.

Remember, I have not received a bill since dinosaurs roamed the earth. The queue is visibly longer than the one at the BYO West counter and is not moving an inch. The lady there is busy cleaning her keyboard. I assume she is the cleaner by the way she meticulously scrubs the computer. We later discover otherwise, and that there is a ‘problem’ with her terminal. We are then shunted to another one and she promptly starts work.

Meanwhile, the BYO West queue has disappeared and the lady there is dutifully telling anyone who strays there that she deals only with the WEST. Our queue has grown much longer and soon I regret the folly of having moved from Gwabalanda to Parklands. After going through two customers, the ‘cleaning’ lady abruptly moves back to the first terminal which is now working after some tinkering by a very smart looking young man in glasses.

By then the bearded white fellow behind me has blown a couple of fuses. In fact, he is on the verge of inciting a riot. It also does not help matters that a white lady has cut the queue in the process. Apparently, the white chap has been queuing since the day before and wonders aloud why there are no bills being sent out and why the computers don’t seem to work. Good questions those, but the rest of us behave like new-born kittens.

Lest we be condemned to queuing forever, like what he is surely asking for by his wayward behaviour.

It’s now my turn and the ‘cleaning lady’ informs me that I have a credit, meaning that the utility actually owes me money instead!

However, since bills are sure to materialise this century, I’m advised to pay an estimated amount.

This, I am kindly warned, is the prudent thing to do because when the bills do eventually arrive and I am found wanting, I will surely be cut off. It’s a small victory for a small man like me to be owed money by a utility. I take a glance at the payments queue and I decide that I do not want to miss seeing my children grow into adulthood standing there.

A small disclaimer here should suffice. This was during the days when queuing was the norm rather than the exception. It was a sight that something was working. I really miss those days because I managed to study for a certificate while standing in a queue. That’s being productive.

Its like those who made babies while in the petrol queue. That’s being creative in every sense of the word. We are glad at least that we are no longer called a “queuetopia.”