weird thing today, but happens to me constantly.
I need to apply for my identity card and was told where to get it.
Arriving at the address I ask and am told it's another address, naturally. I go there. Nope, a nice man points across the street. Nope, the nice lady in the grand entrance says, turn left. Finally I enter. "Primo piano, " they say. Primo piano, I can't make heads or tails which office. I ask a man in an office who seems to be doing nothing. He points to stanza due.
People are waiting outside stanza due, with uncharacteristic boldness I announce, "who speaks English?" A man and his wife try to help.
They tell me not to wait, "go online and apply there". The husband shows me a website where I can apply. After taking a photo of it I start to leave, downhearted, because...wtf? Standing in the arched hallway I think, nope, wait for it. Ask again. So I sit next to the husband. While I am sitting there I begin reading the website in English and from what I can gather the first, prima carte d'identita, must be in person....ahhha hhhhhhaaaa! Then these two knuckle headed guys sit down diagonally to me and they are laughing at what some woman had said and they turn to me laughing, did I appreciate the joke? Well, I would if I understood. I speak a little Italian, I say. The husband tells them why I am there and then they say, follow us. (I'm talking Larry, Darryl and Darryl...look it up.) Down the hall is another office where they interrupt il Dottore to tell him I speak English and need help. Dr. Maurizio takes an interest in me and putting aside the Indian family, (for shame), he takes my documents, one being my passport, but as I hand it over I remember I'd left one hundred euro in it. He chuckles hahaha, " I can't take money." We all laugh.
The Dr. then takes me back to the original office where I had asked for the carte d'identita ufficio and the little man who I now believe is half deaf lets us use his unused desk to look up my information. Well, indeed. I am a bonafide Italiana.
Next we four scurry down to stanza due where the Dr. piles in and begins explaining to Ciro and Guiseppe that I am next. And so I sit in an office of non-essential things and apparently people. I can't make out who Ciro is, half his teeth are missing but he is lovely, and tells me I have beautiful eyes. Another man seems to be a bouncer-type but certainly in his late 60's, maybe just a well-informed friend who hangs out at his friends job all day. Who knows? Who cares? After they scan my documents and finger print me, I pay what I think is meant to be 5.42 euro, (according to my state side source), that in reality is twenty euro, after breaking a fifty, plus some odd change. Frankly I have no idea what transpired and that's okay, I'm on my way. And as I am writing this it occurs to me, angels in disguise. Somehow I have this magical experience again and again and again in Italy. And just when I'm ready to break designer plates, and stomp some serious grapes, grace. Grace, grace, grace.
Updated: Feb 14