Second and third visits

The 2^nd visit –I find my folder apparently untouched since submission. Another employee – younger and more polite – explains it’s not ready and can’t be until the previous card expiry date.  L   I explain I’d been told it would be ready two days previously . Big Hair says she hadn’t had the time to check the dates and made a mistake. My objections, that I’d been told to apply prior to card expiry, and couldn’t the new card be back-dated anyway,  all fall  if not on stony ground, then  a very  dirty ‘mosaic’ floor  (no Knossos dolphin patterns here – just marble chips set in concrete) ; the gate-keeping desk-sitters are adamant- it won’t go through.

The 3^rd visit – I’ve now learned : optimism is an unwise emotion to hold when dealing with officialdom - as in ‘kingdom’ someone is unquestionably in power, theirs is a ‘reign’ dedicated to  rain on your parade. On arrival I am recognised …. and reprimanded for being late - the file is ready. Only when I have the new card in hand do I voice my displeasure at how things have been handled. The young clerk responds with the raised shoulders gesture – the   Greek equivalent of the Glasgow – ‘It wisnae me, Jimmie’ with an additional functional value of ‘and see if I care’ - while BH argues I really only had to come twice as the second visit was a ‘mistake’. When I point out the mistake was hers and not mine as she misinformed me, my blinding logic is met with stony silence. Anyway, I say, the good thing is that I shall, with luck, never have to come to their office again as, to my delight, the new card is a permanent one. United now, we exchange smiles all round – we three witches need never meet again! J J J   

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!