So I felt compelled to write again today, even though I just updated my blog yesterday, because I needed to vent my frustrations somewhere other than by beating one of the fine employees of the Migration Office in Quito senseless. So, here I am, writing to you after spending literally the past four hours sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable chair in la Dirección de Migración in Quito (the equivalent of the DMV here). See, in order to take a plane next week on our coastal excursion, all of us were required to take a folder of information given to us by our academic directors to this office in order to obtain our Censos (aka. Ecuadorean ID card). I decided to go this afternoon after class with another girl, Aly. We were assured by our friend, Allison, who had just gotten hers, that she only waited a half hour and that it was not that bad. So, our spirits buoyed on what turned out to be false hopes for a quick, painless transaction, Aly and I entered the Censo office at approximately 1:00 PM, each took a number, and sat down among the crowd of people already present.
What followed was perhaps too horrifying, too frightening, too harrowing to talk about in any great detail, but, needless to say, after four hours of waiting in my uncomfortable chair with a screaming baby behind me, I longed for the good old days of the DMV. And that is saying something!
Besides the fact that for a long time, there was only one employee behind the desk, thus only allowing one person to be processed at a time, the employees did not seem too eager to expedite anything and took their time calling for the next number, laughing and talking with their coworkers at length in between people. To add to my frustration, around hour three, two nuns who had apparently been waiting since 11:30AM that morning (thus putting their total wait time at about four and a half hours) FINALLY had their numbers called. However, literally just as they were proudly walking up to present their papers to the Censo officers, two other nuns appeared out of nowhere and scooted right in front of them!
Now, I SAW the slip of paper that one of these imposter nuns held in her hand and it was nowhere NEAR that number yet! However, being nuns and perhaps due to the fact that one of them was on crutches, they decided they did not need to wait for their number to be called. Now, by this point, what had once been two fairly mature, civilized human beings called Aly and Alex had become more or less petulant children on the verge of a temper tantrum. But then, anyone who has been waiting that long and in those conditions would be, as well. I turned to Aly and told her, "I do not care if you are a nun. I do not care if you are on crutches. You can very well take a seat and wait your turn just as well as anyone else!" The nuns, the officers behind the desk, nor God, apparently, gave a crap about fairness, though, because the nuns (the IMPOSTER nuns, not the poor nuns who had been waiting since 11:30 AM and were now waiting yet again for the imposter nuns to be processed) went right on through, got their Censo cards, and shuffled back outside and out of the Hell in which the rest of us who believed in waiting our turns were presently in.
FINALLY, after four hours, the numbers got dangerously close to ours: I had 634, Aly had 633. We watched as the numbers on the little call screen got closer and closer to ours--629, 630, 631...FINALLY, 633 flashed on the screen and Aly practically leapt up from her seat. I could not help but emit an enthusiastic, "Yeah!" as she marched, smiling and victorious, over to the desk. After about fifteen more minutes of angsting and waiting, my number FINALLY flashed on the screen. For the first time in my life, I knew what it was to win the lottery, because that is honestly how I felt! I strode proudly up to the desk and presented my envelope to the stern-faced officer behind the desk...and that´s about where it all went downhill.
First, she asked me for a copy of my passport and visa. Now, I had my actual passport with my actual visa, but apparently they needed a copy and did not have a copier. AND apparently, even though we were led to believe by our academic directors that everything we needed for our Censos was in our envelopes, this was apparently not the case. I cannot tell you how my heart sank all the way down to my feet (plummeted is perhaps a better verb) as the officer told me sternly and mercilessly that I needed to get a copy and return when my papers were in order. I asked her weakly if I could return to her or if I would need to wait all over again and the only thing that kept me from bursting into tears was that she did tell me I could at least return straight to her and not wait again.
I burst from the Censo office, angrier than words could describe and also somehow on the verge of tears. Luckily, there was a store that made copies right next door (probably there expressly for idiots like me whose papers are not "en orden"), so I ran in like a madwoman, made a copy of my passport and visa, practically threw a dime at the lady behind the counter, and flew back to the Censo office. I presented my things to the Censo officer, sure that they must be okay now, but then she informed me that, apparently, on the outside of the envelope of papers I had given her, I had to write my name, address, nationality, type of visa, passport number, and glue a picture. They at least took pity on me as I struggled to write out everything as quickly as possible and gave me glue to put my picture on the envelope. However, the rest of the time, they just sort of glared at me icily as I struggled to arrange everything.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the officer tossed my tiny, laminted Censo card at me and called out, "¡Listo!" to signal the next person, not giving me a second glance. It was a good thing, though--if she had looked at me again, I might have reached across that desk and gouged her eyes out or just plain throttled her.
I must say, I feel a great deal calmer after having written all this out. However, that does not mean I will not sleep soundly tonight, dreaming sweet dreams of strangling Censo officers and dropkicking nuns all the way to the back of very long lines.
Ciao,
-Alex
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