Identity Card Depression

Today I went to get an Identity Card at some government office here in Rome.

I took a number from a ticket machine and began waiting. After a while my number was illuminated on a board and indicated that I should go to line number 8. I went there and told the woman behind the counter that I wanted a "Carta d'Identita." She rolled her eyes, sighed, and told me that I needed to go upstairs and get the correct form. I went upstairs and paid 5.42 euros for the required form. I also needed my passport and one copy, my permesso di sojourno and three photos. I didn't have three euros change for the photo-taking machine (which doesn't give change if you put in a 5 euro note) and I didn't have my original passport with me, so The Man and I returned home for lunch. (The office closes from noon to 2:00, anyway.) I figured that we could just get all my stuff together and return in the afternoon.

After lunch and a brief nap (necessary for the ordeal ahead) we returned to the office. I brought the three euros and sat in the photo booth. I left with several of the worst photos I've ever seen of myself. The Man and I returned to the big office, took a number and waited with all the other poor souls going through the same thing.

I got to the woman behind the glass window again, spread out all my documents, along with the form, partially filled out because it's all in Italian and I couldn't understand some of it. Anyway, the exasperated woman behind the counter told me I needed a "Residenza." "A what?" I asked. She explained it in rapid Italian, something about another document I needed from some other counter there in the building.

We went to that counter and were told that the "Residenza" requests are only done in the morning and that I'd have to return at 8:30 tomorrow to get in a line where some "Vigili" (policeman) would be handing out numbers to the first ten people in line. They only process ten people each day.

We backed away from the counter to let others shove their way to the front. I stood there, my fists full of papers and bad photos, and looked at The Man. He stood there in the middle of the office and said, "Did you think you were just going to walk in here and get your Card today?!" I just looked at him. He already has his Identity Card. He went through this some years ago. He knows the drill, the pain, the frustration involved in trying to get any kind of documentation in this country of endless, insane bureaucracy.

We walked out...in total defeat.

I may go back tomorrow. I may not. I'm not sure I'm up to the challenge.

Oh, and the last woman we spoke to said that even if I get my "residenza" paperwork done tomorrow, it still takes an additional three months before I'll see my Carta d'Identita.