The advantages of speaking terrible Italian but trying really hard

Last Thursday I had a study right before lunch, and I don't teach during the lunch period, so I had potentially a 2-hour window in which to get downtown to the Italian consulate to pick up my visa before they close at noon. (I had learned several days before that because I did not bring a SASE with me, they would wait for me to come pick it up. Joy.) This study-before-lunch configuration happens once every 8 days, unless you have a three-day weekend in the middle, in which case it happens once every 11. So if I didn't get the thing on the Thursday it was going to be just shy of 2 weeks before I could go again. I managed to c/o/n/ persuade a colleague to take my study, scampered out of the building and headed east on the T.

Public transport totally cooperated - the train came about 3 minutes after I got to the stop, and the second train was waiting when I changed. I arrived at the consulate at 11:10, with fully an hour and a half to get the passport and scurry back to school. I hop off the elevator on the 17th floor, round the corner confidently to the consulate... and the visa office door is shut, and the lights are off. Cue sinking heart.

The actual consulate is open. I ask the nice man at the desk where I can pick up my visa. "They told you to come TODAY? You have the appointment TODAY?" Uh, no, they told me to come after May 12. This was the first day I could get away. "The visa office is closed. They cannot process your paperwork today." Not processing paperwork, just picking up, that's all, really. "Hmph. I ask. Please, you will be seated to wait."

So I am seated to wait. He disappears. After about 10 minutes, he comes back out, with my dear friend Operator 1 alongside him. I hear her say, "Oh, of course. Yes, I know her. She is mumblemumble." He looks dissatisfied. She waves to me, "Buongiorno, Signora. Aspetta momento." I wave back. Hope springs. He disappears again then returns and marches up to me.

"Miller? Suarez? You come now please." Suarez, it turns out, is sitting next to me. We go. He unlocks the visa office (note: does not turn the lights on. We are not welcome here, clearly), goes behind the bulletproof glass and sits. "They yell at me when I do this for you, you know. I do not process paperwork on Thursday." I say as mildly and politely as I can possibly be, "But I'm just picking up." I give him my driver's license. He gets up again and goes to the back of the room, opens a file, pulls out my passport, all but throws it at me, and sits again. I retrieve passport and ID and after a few mille grazie escape into the sunshine again. Arrival back at Latin School: 12:25 pm, with 13 minutes to eat lunch. Woo hoo!

I'm actually planning on being in country touring for 10 days beyond my official visa status. I'll be an illegal alien! Maybe they'll deport me and pay for my ticket home.