Pay Up and Smile

I'll admit it, I have a little unease dealing with government and their minions. It's not so much who they are, after all, it would be wrong for me to make those types of assumptions, but rather the power they hold over me.

Two years ago I opened a small (very small) boutique selling mostly olive oil and olives from Greece that I import myself. It's still touch and go, but my ship is still afloat. My investment was financed by a personal line of credit backed up with my home. No government grants or subsidies, thank you. Don't want the "help" (Faustian bargain) and despite my university business degree can't figure out the dizzying paperwork. I work seven days a week and truly enjoy every minute. About a month ago, a customer suggested I should try to sell my oils at a very popular open-air farmers' market she organizes every Saturday during the summer. I thought it would be a great idea, not to mention being a little flattered. So every Saturday morning, my daughter and I pack up and drive an hour north while my wife runs the mother ship. It's a lot of fun, I love the atmosphere and there are some great locally produced goodies on sale. Of course, olive oil isn't a Canadian product, but I'm there under the "family product clause."

Everything was going great, until last Saturday, when an ominous thunderstorm cut the day short. Ominous because soon after the first booms of thunder and sheets of rain, came The Inspector. With nary a hello, she asked for my permit. "What permit?" I replied a little befuddled and sensing that I was headed for some choppy waters. I sell olive oil from a container that I bottle in front of the customer, therefore I fall into the category of food handling and thus require a permit. There's a permit for everything, isn't there? "But, I've been doing this for two years and have been inspected already. Never was I asked for a permit," I protested meekly. "Sorry, the Law requires you have this permit," came the reply. "Here is the application. There's a $260 fee. May I have your information?"

Gulp.

The following Monday morning the news got better. The telephone rang with headache inducing information. Since I operate in two locations, even if the open-air market is temporary and incidental to my main business, I would need two permits, one for my boutique and one for the market, no exceptions. "To avoid two permits, what you can do is to fill the bottles at the boutique. Have a nice day!" Yeah, thanks for the heads-up, but I'm trying to avoid even one permit.

On Tuesday, I called the government department to see if some sanity would prevail, unfortunately that was too much to ask. About the only good thing I can say was that the agent on the phone was quite courteous and seemed sympathetic to my plight. (I may have an unease with government staff, but I try not to be biased.) She even helped me fill out the application, as I do not have a bureaucratic mind-set and filling out these mind-benders is torture to me. (It takes me a week to get over tax season.) Then I came across the cherry on top: there is a $100 first-time charge. So $260 magically becomes $360. Do these dweebs get together around a big round table drinking watery coffee thinking up inanities like "first time charges?"

Now, let's understand one thing, this permit is just that, official permission to handle food for resale. First of all, I never touch the oil, or the olives, for that matter. Every other product that I sell is sealed. Secondly, hygiene is not the question, because this is theft for a permit. I don't have a problem with a health inspection, but paying for the right to sell something seems to be just plain wrong.

As I hung up, another inspector walked in. Leviathan sure works fast when it wants your money. Indeed, she was there to verify what kind of food handling I do and that yes, I am required to have this permit for my boutique. Again, this inspector was courteous and sympathetic (See? No bias.) I told her that in my two years in this business this is the first time I had been asked for such a permit even having been inspected many times already. She dropped a delicious little nugget. "Yeah, you need one, but with a small business like yours and since the only food handling you do is pouring olive oil or spooning out olives, there really is no need to trouble you with that. Some people are a little more letter of the law, though." Hmm… Of course, since she was sent for this reason, she cannot "overlook" this lapse in compliance.

The next morning, The Inspector called me. I told her that all the required paperwork was prepared and already mailed including the exorbitant $360 payment and thanks again. "You don't have to be impolite." She scolded me with an imperious tone. OK, this is where I reached the frayed ends of my rope; I have to pay a not insignificant amount (that is somewhat discretionary) and have to smile about it? "Thank you ma'am, may I have another?" Give some people a badge and they love to lord it over you. Who did I think I was? Such impudence! The conversation didn't get much better and ended with a terse "everything is in order (according to Leviathan) and unless there's anything else, I think we're done as I am quite busy." Oh, I also thanked her for her dedication to food safety.

This is where I'm a bit of a blockhead. I should have just smiled and let it go at that, but like I said at the beginning, I have a bit of an uneasiness dealing with government employees, especially those that can make your life difficult. Nevertheless, I wanted to let her understand that some of us lowly merchants who work long hours with no sick days or paid holidays or government connected unions aren't complete deferential saps.

The Inspector will follow up at next week's market to make sure I comply.

Gulp.

July 20, 2006