So I know I said I was going to go back to the Commissariato in early December to see if our permessos might be ready but I never got the chance. The “Christmas month” did kind of take over the whole of December with various festas, events, business closings, and family and guests visiting. And of course there was the weather. The most uncooperative weather. So I actually never made it back until January.
Being a seasoned pro now, I parked in my usual area, walked the harrowing sidewalk-less walk down the busy road to the entrance to the Polizia di Stato. Pushed the buzzer and headed up the stairs. I was almost feeling a bit cocky, probably because this was such a familiar routine.
But as smug as I was feeling with the routine, I truly didn’t think they would have our permessos available yet. For sure, there would be some item still undone, something I still had to provide, and I would clomp back down the stairs and out to the street to my car empty-handed.
I brought a book and waited my turn in the Italian queue system in one of the plastic egg chairs. I didn’t have to wait long and zipped up to the window. “Permesso per Caterina B…? I say while pushing my paperwork under the tray to the officer. It’s my friend that likes to play games. And here we go. He starts. “Permesso? Permesso?” He asks. “Si, si” I say. “Per la famiglia B? Is it ready?”
“Permesso?” he asks again. Is this a new game? Pretend YOU can’t hear? I stick my head down close to the window tray opening and shout through the opening “Si, un permesso. IS IT READY?”
He finally looks at my paperwork and opens my passport. Obviously though there is still some confusion as to why I am here shouting “permesso?” through the window at him, so he needs to go consult with the female officer who is in the little side room having her espresso.
They discuss, they talk, they confer, they look up at me, and they point. They look through my paperwork. She then looks up and shouts to me “Permesso?” Ah, she gets it! “Si! Si!” I shout back with a stupid happy grin on my face.
Not sure why I was smiling, it’s not like they had produced anything yet – they merely understood why I was standing in their waiting hall shouting “permesso” through the tray window. I think.
The female officer gives my male officer some instructions and sends him to a shelf in the corner of the office. He comes back to the window with what appears to be a shoebox and begins rifling through all of the bits of paper that I can see are shoved in there. Nope, whatever he is looking for is not in that box.
He goes to put it back on the shelf and comes back with a second shoebox. He rummages through this one all the while muttering my last name over and over as he searches. There is no filing system in the box, I can clearly see that. It is merely “Stuff” dumped into the box, packed and stacked vertically though. Some things are rubber-banded together, as my paperwork was when he found it and pulled it out. “Ah ecco! Si, va bene!” he says.
Now he takes everything over to the computer and bangs away at it for a bit, looking occasionally at my passport and paperwork for scraps of information.
I take this opportunity to begin counting the amount of rubber stamps on the back desk. There are scads and scads of rubber stamps. And they are all hanging in a row of stamp holders. I count and it looks like each stamp “organizer” holds 20 stamps. There are 7 of those lined up on the desk. But one of them is missing quite a few. There are a total of 128 stamps!
Holy Cow! Mamma Mia! I wonder what all of those stamps are for and hopefully I never have to find out. Oops, I realize I missed the five that are on the shelf directly in front of me. That makes 133 stamps.
My man comes back to the window. “Okay, adesso, impronta digitale”. He needs my fingerprints!
Thank goodness I am an expert at this now. We start with my right thumb. And then my pointer. But wait. The machine does not seem to be working. “Again” he says. I start over. He stands up and smacks the fingerprinting machine. Nope that didn’t seem to work. Surprisingly.
He reinserts some magic credit card-type thing and we start over. Nope, still not working. “Please don’t send me to Arezzo” is all I can think. Over and over I repeat it to myself.
He calls his female associate over. Her tactic? Shout something at him with lots of pointing at the computer, shout at me with lots of hand gestures and then hit the machine again. And do you know what? It worked!
He proceeds to give her a few “Grazie Mille!” as she walks away. We finish up my fingerprinting now in record time.
I sign some papers and then hand over all of my receipts per his instructions. Then, do you know what happened next? He gave me our three permessos! He asked me to look them over and make sure all of the information was correct. Good god, I should hope so by this point! I’ve only given it about twenty times. And what am I going to do, wait another five months if the information is wrong?
I look at the pictures on each of our permessos. Which of the 100 passport pictures that I provided, did they use? It is the very first picture that I had taken and given to the INAS man! The one where I look especially frazzled and bedraggled after spending a month’s salary in the “Fun Photos” booth. I don’t know what happened to all of the other photos.
Then he tells me that’s it, I’m done, bye-bye, ciao, arrivederci! I turn and head out the door. I am practically floating out! I have our PERMESSOS! We are legal now! But then I hear “Signora? Signora! Signora…” Surely he can’t be calling after me, but a man grabs me to indicate that yes, the office needs me back at the window. What now? Did he find a mistake? Do I need to bring back Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth? Her invisible plane? Those gold cuff bracelets? Or are we deported?
No, he is simply handing out three little sleeves to put our permesso cards in. And then that was it. I won’t have to go through all of this running around unless I want it renewed in a year. It seemed pretty anticlimactic.
Now what will I do with my time?
“unless I want it renewed in a year.”
foreshadowing?
delightful tale of suspense.