The number of post offices in Daugavpils is decreasing. At the end of October, the post office on Valkas Street closed. Pensioners from the nearby areas, who traditionally received their pensions here in cash, are forced to look for other ways to receive their money.
Among them was my 81-year-old mother. So the events described below unfolded before my eyes, - writes a journalist from the Grani portal.
Mom decided that it was time to receive her pension at home — from the postman. The service costs 2.39 euros a month, but it eliminates the risk of going out in winter. On the last day of the post office's operation on Valkas, she wrote an application for her pension to be delivered to her residence starting next month. However, she was a bit taken aback: the payment date was changing — from the 15th of each month to the 22nd.
While mom was returning home and thinking it over, she became very upset. She couldn't sleep all night, and in the morning she called me: "I calculated that with the change of date, the state has stolen 130 euros from me," she said anxiously. I reassured her that we would go to the post office together, write a new application, and she would receive her pension on the 15th again.
But at the post office, they informed us that nothing could be changed: the postman delivers the pension only on those days. If mom decides to open a bank account, the State Social Insurance Agency (VSAA) will assign a new date — maybe even the 30th. She can forget about her usual 15th.
We got in the car and went to the VSAA to clarify whether this was possible. They confirmed there: the payment date is determined by a computer program, and the employees cannot change it. "Whatever date comes up — that's when you will receive it," they explained to us. Mom became even more upset.
We opened a bank account and returned to the VSAA. I asked mom to be quiet for a moment while I spoke with the inspector. I asked again about the pension date — to a different employee this time. The answer was the same: the program decides. Then I said that mom wanted to submit an application to receive her pension on the 15th — the day originally assigned by the state. Earlier — fine, later — no. The pension is small, and every extra day of waiting matters. I asked for a form for the application.
The inspector noticeably became nervous. "Wait, let's see what the computer says," she said. A second later, she perked up: "Oh! You are lucky! You will receive your pension on the 15th." Mom beamed with joy — as if she had won the lottery. No applications had to be written.
But I felt sad. After all, not everyone in Latvia has children and grandchildren ready to help in such situations. The elderly are defenseless, trusting, vulnerable people. The state should do everything possible to protect them. Or at least not to upset them unnecessarily. Not to mention hiding behind a "computer program" for the sake of system convenience.
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