Yesterday I went to pick up my greencard. YAY!!! I am now able to work here legally, come and go as I please, and stay here until 2013. However, like most wonderful things, this glorious gift comes with a story and a new appreciation for Czech bureaucracy.
It really started after I got approved several months ago. They handed my boss a single sheet of paper, which said everything was ok, I wasn't some crazed killer and the Czech government would happily supply me with a work permit aka greencard. When she asked when we would receive said greencard, all she was told was they (the foreign ministry) would be in touch to let us know when it was ready to be picked up. So we waited. And waited. And waited. She called, got the same response, and finally earlier this week, we got the phone call we had been waiting for. We had an appointment to go to our local Ministry department building and pick up the card (which in truth is just a page in one's passport)
Our appointment was for 9:00. No problem. My boss and I met up in front of the main post office and made our way to the hotel, which the nameless man she had spoken to told us was across the street from the building where they were holding my greencard. And this is where the real story begins. There were about 10000000 buildings across the multitude of streets by the hotel. "Well did he give you an address" I sensibly asked. "No" she replied, "he just said it was across the street from the Savoy Hotel". "Well, perhaps it is in the Erotic City (Czech premier sex toy store)" I responded. So we dash across the street to the only building which it reasonably could house the Ministry of Foreigners, or what ever the hell they are calling it today.
Now let me describe the outside of this building for a moment. It is a brick box, quite literally. And there ends my description. (Sometimes Communism really does make things easier) We look around the building for a moment for anything which might help us figure out what this monstrosity to the aesthetic eye might be, when we finally find two very small plaques, one of which contains the Czech word foreign and the other for police. Assuming we must be in the right place to at least ask for directions, we go in and approach the first window we see.
After asking the nice lady in the window a dozen few questions, Marketa (my boss) answers my inquiry if we are in the right place. "She said she doesn't know, but maybe we should try up stairs". So up the stairs we went, to take a number (after of course deducing for ourselves that we are, in fact, in the right place, mainly due to all the immigration posters on the walls) and begin to wait. Finally after about 20 minutes of waiting, there is a ding and our number came up on the little board (mind you, we were number 2). A door to the side of the room opened and out walked this very handsome pencil pusher. He ushered us into a hallway, mumbled something to me in Czech, and then walked in to the bleakest of offices I have ever seen. I wish I had taken my camera with me because I know words will fail to do justice to the scene I am about to try and paint for you. Everything, and I mean quite literally everything, was gray, the walls, the desks, the boxes, the chairs, the lamps, the sky outside, the cute bureaucrat's sweatshirt, EVERYTHING. I hadn't been in that office for more than 5 seconds before my will to live began to drain from me.
It didn't take long for c.b. (cute bureaucrat as he will now be referred to) to realize I don't speak Czech and completely ignore me. He asked my boss a series of questions, to which I was only privy to the one asking for my passport. This went on for about five/ten minutes until c.b. ushered us back into the waiting room, where we waited and waited and waited. Thankfully, the monotony of waiting was broken up by c.b. coming out, asking cryptic questions, not answering any of the questions we asked him, requiring more papers, and then disappearing into a door he hadn't come out of. This went on for over an hour.
Finally, an hour and a half or so later, he ushered us back into the office of despair (I mean even the name plaques were gray and there were no person possessions anywhere to be seen). After a couple of more minutes of babbling at my boss and not even looking at me, he hands back my passport with the greencard inside, still not looking at me. We are then ushered back out of the office and told I have 10 days to get health insurance and the door closed before we could even say thank you.
As we walked down the stairs to leave, I noticed the one non-government piece of art on the walls. It was a creepy painting that looked seriously like some bad rip off of a Kirchner. Marketa, who seemed to understand the humor in all of this looked back one last time and said "I wish I had brought my camera. I want a picture of this office".
So yes, I realize my day ended far better than the Castle or the Trial, but still. All I can say after that little encounter is, I can totally understand the need for pivo.
It really started after I got approved several months ago. They handed my boss a single sheet of paper, which said everything was ok, I wasn't some crazed killer and the Czech government would happily supply me with a work permit aka greencard. When she asked when we would receive said greencard, all she was told was they (the foreign ministry) would be in touch to let us know when it was ready to be picked up. So we waited. And waited. And waited. She called, got the same response, and finally earlier this week, we got the phone call we had been waiting for. We had an appointment to go to our local Ministry department building and pick up the card (which in truth is just a page in one's passport)
Our appointment was for 9:00. No problem. My boss and I met up in front of the main post office and made our way to the hotel, which the nameless man she had spoken to told us was across the street from the building where they were holding my greencard. And this is where the real story begins. There were about 10000000 buildings across the multitude of streets by the hotel. "Well did he give you an address" I sensibly asked. "No" she replied, "he just said it was across the street from the Savoy Hotel". "Well, perhaps it is in the Erotic City (Czech premier sex toy store)" I responded. So we dash across the street to the only building which it reasonably could house the Ministry of Foreigners, or what ever the hell they are calling it today.
Now let me describe the outside of this building for a moment. It is a brick box, quite literally. And there ends my description. (Sometimes Communism really does make things easier) We look around the building for a moment for anything which might help us figure out what this monstrosity to the aesthetic eye might be, when we finally find two very small plaques, one of which contains the Czech word foreign and the other for police. Assuming we must be in the right place to at least ask for directions, we go in and approach the first window we see.
After asking the nice lady in the window a dozen few questions, Marketa (my boss) answers my inquiry if we are in the right place. "She said she doesn't know, but maybe we should try up stairs". So up the stairs we went, to take a number (after of course deducing for ourselves that we are, in fact, in the right place, mainly due to all the immigration posters on the walls) and begin to wait. Finally after about 20 minutes of waiting, there is a ding and our number came up on the little board (mind you, we were number 2). A door to the side of the room opened and out walked this very handsome pencil pusher. He ushered us into a hallway, mumbled something to me in Czech, and then walked in to the bleakest of offices I have ever seen. I wish I had taken my camera with me because I know words will fail to do justice to the scene I am about to try and paint for you. Everything, and I mean quite literally everything, was gray, the walls, the desks, the boxes, the chairs, the lamps, the sky outside, the cute bureaucrat's sweatshirt, EVERYTHING. I hadn't been in that office for more than 5 seconds before my will to live began to drain from me.
It didn't take long for c.b. (cute bureaucrat as he will now be referred to) to realize I don't speak Czech and completely ignore me. He asked my boss a series of questions, to which I was only privy to the one asking for my passport. This went on for about five/ten minutes until c.b. ushered us back into the waiting room, where we waited and waited and waited. Thankfully, the monotony of waiting was broken up by c.b. coming out, asking cryptic questions, not answering any of the questions we asked him, requiring more papers, and then disappearing into a door he hadn't come out of. This went on for over an hour.
Finally, an hour and a half or so later, he ushered us back into the office of despair (I mean even the name plaques were gray and there were no person possessions anywhere to be seen). After a couple of more minutes of babbling at my boss and not even looking at me, he hands back my passport with the greencard inside, still not looking at me. We are then ushered back out of the office and told I have 10 days to get health insurance and the door closed before we could even say thank you.
As we walked down the stairs to leave, I noticed the one non-government piece of art on the walls. It was a creepy painting that looked seriously like some bad rip off of a Kirchner. Marketa, who seemed to understand the humor in all of this looked back one last time and said "I wish I had brought my camera. I want a picture of this office".
So yes, I realize my day ended far better than the Castle or the Trial, but still. All I can say after that little encounter is, I can totally understand the need for pivo.
Haha, kind of reminds me of trying to get my visa in Vietnam IN THE VIETNAMESE AIRPORT. So much red tape!
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