Post by evgeny semiletov

whingy 9h

Step 1: Wake Up and Prove You Deserve Basic AdministrationTo begin, you must first prove you are human.Not once. Not gently. But through a CAPTCHA trial designed like an IQ test written by a bored robot:“Select all images with traffic lights”(One is a bicycle. One is a shadow. One might be your will to live.)Retry.Retry.Retry until even the concept of “car” becomes emotionally abstract. And naturally, in 2026, one might assume we’ve evolved past this medieval ritual and adopted something like MFA—maybe a simple authenticator app, a biometric check, literally anything that doesn’t 2/8

whingy · 9h

feel like a punishment from a 2007 internet forum.But no.We still do CAPTCHA like it’s a sacred rite: “Only the worthy shall click on buses correctly.”Step 2: The Great 6:00 AM Hunger GamesThen comes the moment.10 minutes before 6 AM, you sit ready like a pilot launching a space mission.Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.Heart rate rising.The page loads.You enter. And there it is: the appointment system. Clean. Minimal. Hopeful. Almost mocking you.You solve the CAPTCHA again—because apparently your humanity expires every 90 seconds. You enter the final page.And then…Nothing. 3/8

whingy · 9h

No appointments.No slots.No explanation.Just a digital void that feels like someone quietly removed all furniture from a room you were just told to sit in.Step 3: Where Did the Appointments Go? A Scientific MysteryOne might reasonably ask:Where do the appointments go?Are they:Released in batches of 3, consumed instantly by bots faster than light? Taken by unseen users who possess secret internet cables buried directly into government servers? Or do they simply evaporate at 6:00:01 AM like digital Schrödinger cats?Nobody knows. 4/8

whingy · 9h

What we do know is this: the system behaves less like public infrastructure and more like a casino slot machine where every pull costs you sleep instead of money.Except in this casino:The machine is invisibleThe payout is imaginaryAnd the casino staff tells you to come back tomorrow at exactly the same time for emotional repetitionStep 4: The Official Guidance (A Comedy Section) And then, like a final punchline printed in Helvetica, the official instruction appears: “For emergency appointments, please check the official website.”Which is adorable. 5/8

whingy · 9h

Because “check the website” is exactly what you have been doing.Repeatedly.At dawn.With the determination of someone training for an Olympic sport that only exists in a broken simulation.Step 5: The Human Cost of ‘Efficient Digital Processes’What makes this system special is not just that it is inefficient.It is that it is performatively inefficient.It adds layers:First, prove you are human Then, compete with machines pretending to be humans Then, enter a queue that may or may not existThen, refresh until time itself becomes suspicious 6/8

whingy · 9h

All while being told this is “modern digital administration.”One starts to wonder if the design goal was not service delivery, but endurance testing.Epilogue: A Suggestion from the Edge of ReasonIt is difficult not to notice the irony.We live in a world where:Banks authenticate via biometrics in under a secondPhones recognize faces in darknessCars park themselvesAI can write essays about bureaucracy And yet: To book an appointment, one must defeat 17 CAPTCHAs, align with a 6:00 AM ritual, and hope that somewhere, a hidden button labeled “appointments” is not currently in a 7/8

whingy · 9h

quantum state of nonexistence.At some point, one begins to suspect the system is not broken.It is simply indifferent in a very confident font.And so tomorrow, people will return again at 5:49 AM.Because hope, like CAPTCHA, has no “I am not a robot” option. Yes, written with help of AI, so what? 8/8

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Post by evgeny semiletov

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