Thursday, January 22, 2009

VAT, and love - or the lack thereof

It’s terrible being at the bottom of the food chain! Posh-tall wants to draft an agreement on a matter I am not even allowed to blog about. Hint, hint- it’s big, franchise-like and international- anyway, I have been in the library for nearly six hours and ‘m not even nearly finished. My phone rings (I was beginning to suspect my battery was flat since my ego forbids insecurities about my place on God's earth)
It’s my cousin-aagh!
“Have you found out?”
“What?”
“Ha han- I want to sue the bank now!”
“For what?” At this point, I am simply doing the Yoruba-English transliteration. I hope she can hear the exasperation in my voice.

“The VAT now?”
“Sorry o. I think you are to pay.”

“Why?” She says the 'Why' with two 'i's instead of a 'y'

I share my new legal knowledge (courtesy the Prof.) with her- the customer is liable for the tax for the fees as value added by the bank. Hopefully, she can pass it down to the final consumer. Tough world. I gather she’s not excited at not getting one million naira damages for wrongful deductions (she heard that on TV) or something along those lines. 3.30pm and I think I have made a proper draft (almost Penn-Law standard from my egoistic view) and I walk to Posh-Tall’s office. She’s reading something on the screen and nods me in. I hand over my offering. She hardly looks at it. Umm. Then, she hands me a four-volume Shasegbon high file- “Please draft the Statement of Claim.” “I want it today”. -I forgot to mention, at L. T & Co., work ends when you are done. She hates me!

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