Encounter with Greek bureaucracy : visit one

September also brought my encounter with Greek bureaucracy – partly a Greek derivative – they put the ‘crass’ in it.  It’s time to have my five-year residence permit renewed. It expires on 22/9 and we’ve learned that the ominously named Aliens Police office has moved and there is one now dedicated to European Union nationals. That fact gives me a faint sense of hope, tempered with the foreboding that, nevertheless, the application process can’t possibly go smoothly.                                                                                                                                          

Harry Klein, a local actor/ comedian did an excellent sketch on one such event – a visit to a government office to obtain some documentation. He is there in a huge queue with sheaves of forms, folders and papers – mounded atop a wheelbarrow! In turn each tragic figure ahead of him  turns away, forlorn, his proffered papers scornfully rejected by the ’civil’ servant because some different requisite form is missing.  But as each kaimenoV /kaimenos ( poor soul)  is turned away, Harry gleefully checks his own copy of each document  demanded, confident that when he comes to the ‘gate-keeper’ there will be no stopping him – he has every imaginable  piece of evidence they could possibly ask for. And so it seems – when his turn comes, he produces every document asked for. As the requests become increasingly bizarre - I vaguely remember something about proof that his grandmother was / not a member of the Communist Party- he flourishes it in the face of the increasingly frustrated official. Finally as they have worked about a third of the way through the barrow contents, the official says they cannot continue …..the office closes in ten minutes and they won’t have time to process his application!  The ace card of the bureaucrat!

So there I go, modestly small folder in hand, to join the inevitable queue in the rank-smelling, hot corridor. No one here exudes confidence, most appearing to be from Balkan countries and with a tenuous grasp of the Greek language. One young man totally endears himself to me by offering me his seat – there are four in all. Bless him - chivalry in this sticky, malodorous ante-room!  I establish that in the European chamber there is only one client- I’m next.  Steeling myself to smile, be polite and not lose it with the tin-pot, big blonde-haired rubber-stamp thumper before me, I explain what I want and am given a form which I duly fill out. Am told that I have to come back the following week; clearly things are being done slower in this ‘EU dedicated ‘ office than the previous one where the card enjoyed same-day processing. Being the only employee at that desk, she claims she cannot do it in one day.  I see no plethora of papers demanding her attention, but when faced with the Harry Klein window shut-down, you know you’re done, it’s over!