Rocket Science

Last night, on an evening walk in my neighbourhood - admittedly not one of Sao Paulo's more salubrious - I made a rare visit to a local internet cafe. Much preferring to use my irreplaceable iPhone and it's wireless connection, I was as usual stymied by Brazil's almost complete lack of free wireless in public spaces. God forbid they should offer any service that isn't accompanied by an exploitative fee.

So I prepared to hand over my dois reais and sit down at a desktop computer for half an hour of slow broadband. Hold your horses, Gringo, that would be far too simple a transaction ! The man taking payment said I needed to show an identity card, which was impossible since I had left my passport at home. I tried to talk my way round it but no dice. He firmly and a tad officiously repeated to me that it was The Brazilian Law !

Whenever confronted by knuckleheaded bureaucracy (which would be a lot of late) I try to retain my sanity by delaying compliance - and in doing so forcing the unreflective entity before me to have a peek, if not exactly a think, outside the box.

So I persist in questioning their dogmatic, dunderheaded didacticism. Did he really think an ID was necessary to use the internet for a few minutes ? Strange how other countries manage just fine with no ID requirement. Had it occurred to him that it was even possible to do such a thing without involving The Brazilian Law ? Of course, with my less than pigeon-Portuguese these kind of encounters don't get me very far (I tend to rely on comedically exaggerated body language and vocals for effect).

All I can hope is that this unaccustomed confrontation at least made him think about the possibility of doing things differently. Maybe, just maybe, the foreign butterfly flapping its wings will eventually lead to a tsunami of change here in Brazil.

Defeated, it was off to a local pizza parlour for another disgusting concoction of artery-clogging, oversalted, one-size-fits-all yellow cheese, atop a measly glob of bland tomato sauce and a stodgy dough base. The woman there, as so often in Brazil, didn't have change, necessitating more time-wasting facial acrobatics on my part and finally a trip across the road by her colleague to fetch some.

On his return, said woman didn't throw The Brazilian Law at me but she did throw her Brazilian Mathematical Skills my way, by wrestling with, and losing against, the following equation: Pizza costs R$ 11. Customer hands you R$ 50. You give him change of ... R$ 29 ! No, it wasn't a one-off momentary lapse. It has happened too many times with other natives, plus her prolonged incomprehension at the error once again necessitated exaggerated body movements on my part. Thank you Brazilian Public School System, clearly determined to change the country's impressive record on Nobel Prize wins (zero).

By the way, the owner of a real estate business told me the other day that he personally has to check, re-check and triple-check the work of his underlings because of the abysmal education level in Brazil. And poor or non-existent maths is a big part of that problem.

The pizza itself was the next challenge. How hard can it be to make a Margherita pizza (or something aspiring to that name)? Not a lot of ingredients, are there ? But here in Brazil it takes ... time ... a .. lot .. of .. time .. always .. lots  .. of .. time .. plenty of time .. what's the rush ?

I find myself, on evenings like last night, constantly muttering the phrase "It's not rocket science." I do it like a good Catholic counts her Rosary beads or an Orthodox Jew fiddles with his peyot. It's my pacifier, my coping mechanism.

The problem is, after four months here, I'm beginning to think that even the simplest things really are rocket science to some Brazilians.

And yet somehow they manufacture planes in this country.

And build giant hydroelectric dams.

And produce the world's greatest footballers.

Do they actually build rockets too ?